


Growing Pains

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Cutting, Depression, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Long-Term Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Bruce and Diana are only friends and have been since they were just kids. Growing up and jumping into adulthood, they work together, play together, and even plan on going to the same university in the fall. Only, Bruce is in love with her and Diana has no idea.





	1. Best Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate universe where most of our favorite superheroes have grown up together and are going to school with each other. I don't own DC or the characters. I do own the story.  
> Not all of the characterization or the plot is canon. I've definitely taken creative license.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ** changed the previously teen rating to mature because of language and sexual references

**Bruce**

Her hair looks like a nautical black rope, braided and hanging down the length of her back in intricate pattern of plaits. She’s tipped back in her desk, delicate boots propped on the desk in front of her, arms folded in a no-nonsense manner. I can see her shoulders are stiff with irritation and her jaw is tight, like she’s trying not to say something rude.

            And I’ve never seen a more beautiful girl.

            Sighing inwardly, I sketch the curve of her cheek in the little doodle I’ve been working on for the last hour of chemistry and imagine what it would be like to have Diana Prince actually notice me. It would be like standing directly under the sun bare ass naked. Terrifying and exhilarating.

            Smirking, I complete her braid in the drawing, then quickly do a rough sketch of her crossed ankles. She’s the tallest girl in the senior class, topping out at about six feet even, but she’s still an inch shorter than me. When we stand side to side, we’re eye level. She’s got skin like cream, flawless, with not a freckle in sight and eyes the color of the Caribbean. If I hadn’t been going to school with her for the last two years, I’d say she was some made up fantasy meant to torture any person with a Y chromosome.

            But she’s real. She’s got a smile that could melt even the toughest soul and a laugh that would infect even the sternest grouch. Diana has a pureness to her soul that seems to attract everyone she meets and I’m no less invulnerable.

            In fact, I’d argue I’m about the most obsessed kid in the senior class. And that’s something I’m not exactly proud of.

            The bell blares overhead and I startle out of my daydreams to see the class already packing up their books. Quickly following suit, I force myself not to flinch when Diana is standing in front of my desk, both hands leaning on the wood.

            “Bruce, you will not believe what Clark just texted me.”

            “Oh?” I say stupidly, keeping my eyes on my backpack as I finish zipping it up. She’s nodding, reaching cavalierly for my arm to tote me out of the room. And even though she always tries to keep her strength in check, I can feel her fingers bruising my all too bruise-able skin. But Diana doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just really fucking strong. And not exactly human.

            “Clark sent me this,” she grumbles, showing me a picture of a puppy that looks to be not quite weened from his mother. “His parents got him a puppy. I want to kill myself.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I’ve been asking my Mom for a dog for years. Years, Bruce. And Clark just asks his parents like it’s no big deal and they just say yes. What the hell? My life sucks.”

            I laugh at her dramatic speech, “Diana, if you want a dog, why not just get one. We graduate in a month. You can do what you want.”

            “No I can’t,” she argues, “My mother would kick me out.”

            “Then you could get an apartment. I could lend you the money.”

            She smiles sweetly, “You’re such a good friend Bruce. But I would never have the guts to do that. Besides, I like living at home right now. It takes a little of the pressure off to be a grown up. I mean,” she gives me a conspiratorial shove, “especially when we do all sorts of grown up stuff every day. If ya know what I mean.”

            Of course, I do. And it isn’t the sort of adult stuff I wish she were talking about. JLA business is hardly something to be excited about. Swallowing the lump in my throat I shrug at Diana, “Yeah, I guess.”

            “Must be nice sometimes, not having to ask permission for stuff.”

            I cast her a sidelong glance, “It can be. But I have Alfred. He’s pretty strict.”

            “Yeah,” she thinks about this for a moment, “Yeah, he is. But you’ve always had a dog.”

            “Alfred likes them for security.”

            She nods, “They do make good alarms. Still, I want a little dog though. Something puffy and cute.”

            I try not snort at her description, because literally, Diana looks anything but the puffy and cute type. She’s tall, athletic, and an Amazonian warrior. I imagine her with a wolf or a bear at her side easier than a Pomeranian or chihuahua.

            “A lap dog.”

            She smiles brightly at me, “Exactly. A lap dog. Something I can cuddle and spoil. But my mom would never let me get something like that. Still,” she hums at the picture Clark texted, “a girl can dream.”

            And so can a boy, I muse darkly, wondering if Diana would ever consider dating a guy who has nearly the entire Grey’s anatomy second edition memorized. I think my chances are slim to none. Besides, I’m not Diana’s type. She likes her guys big, brawny, and…kind of like Clark. Smart, but not too smart. Not brainy like me. And even though I’ve considered joining a sport through my high school years, because I’m just as athletic, I simply didn’t have the time. Not with my other commitments. Clark on the other hand, he’s been playing on the Varsity football team since he was a freshman.

            And that’s the sort of guy that Diana has always been attracted to. Who could blame her? The guy is literally Superman.

            I feel the phone in my pocket buzz and I pull it out to read the text message. Clark texted me too, but he didn’t bother sending cute pics of his puppy.

            _Whatcha doing after school?_

            I smile, despite my somewhat sour attitude and answer. _Nothing. It’s Friday. I’m going to binge watch reruns, eat a shit ton of popcorn and then go on patrol._

            _Can I come over?_

            When have I ever said no? I shake my head, still smiling as I answer yes then put my phone away. Diana hasn’t broken stride yet and we finish our walk that we do everyday together to the senior parking lot. I walk her to her little VW and wait till she climbs inside. She rolls down the window and beams up at me.

            “Thanks Bruce. You’re such a sweet guy.”

            “Yeah,” that’s me, sweet as pie. And desperate as a motherfucker for taking any little scrap I can get. “See you Sunday for the meeting?”

            “Sure thing,” she agrees, moving to roll the window up. She stops halfway up, “Have a good weekend! Tell Clark I said hi.”

            She knows we hang out almost every weekend. We’ve been best friends since grade school and everyone on the league is aware of it. We couldn’t be more opposite of each other, but some time between Clark beating up the kid that was trying to blow spit wads in my hair and me buying him his first twinkie, we became inseparable.

            “Will do. Bye Diana.”

            She waves, rolls up her window and buzzes out of the parking lot without so much a glance in her rearview mirror. I sigh wearily as I watch her taillights disappear then walk slowly to my own car. Alfred helped me pick out a more sedate choice for school, a Volvo crossover that I had custom picked in black pearl. It glistens like a volcanic rock under the sunlight and I admire the pretty curves of the car as I slip inside and immediately get bombarded by the blast of screamo I was listening to on my way into school.

            Because I take the freeway instead of the backroads, I shave off a few minutes on my forty-minute drive and I hardly notice when Gotham blurs into view. When I’d reached high school, Alfred and I had decided to enroll me in Metropolis high school, just over the bay, rather than remain in Gotham. Even with private schools, I still wanted to be around what was familiar and comforting. I wanted to be with my friends and that had honestly been the strongest deciding factor.

            Wayne Manor is outside the city limits and I curve away from the city and follow a highway that takes me towards Gotham Woods where the property is snuggled along a lake. When I see the Manor, my chest loosens and I take a breath as if I’d been holding it the whole drive. It’s always the same coming home. Deep down, I recognize that without Batman, or the Wayne empire to keep up with, I’d likely be a recluse. I’d never leave home, content to play video games, eat food ordered online, and live my life inside four walls.

            But life had other plans for me. And I’m rarely home.

            I park the Volvo in the garage next to Royce and take two steps at a time to the door of the kitchen. I find Alfred where he is everyday at about five and he’s standing in front of the stove, thick plumes of steam clouding around him. Dinner smells like something Mexican and my stomach grumbles happily with joy.

            “Tacos?”

            Alfred turns, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “Master Bruce, you’re home a few minutes early. Not from speeding I hope.”

            “Not at all Alfred,” I smile pleasantly, reaching for an apple to fill the gaping hole in stomach till supper is finished. “Tacos?” I ask again, wanting to confirm what my nose is smelling.

            He shakes his head, “Yes of course. It will be done soon. Don’t spoil your dinner.”

            “I’m going to eat a lot more than this Alfred. Trust me.”

            I take a seat at the bar and start into the apple. Alfred keeps working and we remain quiet, just like we do every day after school until he turns from the stove with a satisfied smile on his face.

            “Finished. Tell me, how was your day?”

            “Long. Chemistry was horrifically boring.”

            “That’s because you should have been taking the advanced class.”

            I shrug a shoulder. We both know I took the regular one because Diana did. It’s already been gone over a few times and I’ve been chastised each time. “How was your day?”

            “Long as well. I’ve been cleaning the ballroom in preparation for your birthday party on Saturday. I called the caterer, confirmed the rentals. Everything is ready.”

            I lift a brow and whistle, “Good job. More than what I could have done. You know I hate that stuff.”

            “Which is why I took the liberty of doing it for you. Now all you need to do is pick out a new tie for your tux.”

            I stifle the urge to moan and instead purse my lips. Alfred doesn’t miss the sour look on my face. I’ve never been big on socializing. Ever. But a party for a billionaire turning eighteen is a big deal in the corporate world. I’ll be gaining my majority of the company and the right to vote. It would be a big deal to most teenagers looking to finally be considered an adult. But I’ve never really been a child and when I was just barely a teenager, I was already beating criminals to pulps on the streets of Gotham. Granted, I did it unbeknownst to Alfred at the start, but I’ve been a part of JLA for the last three years and have been running a billion-dollar company almost exclusively for the last two.

            I’m not a child. I’m not a teen just figuring things out. By all rights, I’m far beyond my years and that experience has been hard earned.

            “I’ll get one tomorrow.”

            Alfred smiles knowingly, “Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?”

            “Don’t I always?”

            He shrugs, “You could always wear an old one. I just thought you might like to don something new. You’ll be stepping into a new chapter of your life. It’s a new beginning.”

            “Is it?” I say thoughtfully, eyes drifting to the finished supper on the stovetop, “It doesn’t feel like it.”

            Alfred watches me carefully a moment, eyes soft pewter, “It’s true you’ve a great deal more to deal with than the average boy. But now, at least you can see that you’re not a child. Chronologically speaking. There is something to be said for that.”

            I smile, finishing my apple. “Maybe. I’m still starving Alfred. Is there enough tacos for Clark too? He’s supposed to be here any minute.”

            “Of course. I assumed he’d be over.”

            A knock at the back door is all the warning we get before Clark comes sauntering in. He’s a couple inches taller than myself and though I rival him in musculature, there is no doubt that Clark is still bigger. Today, he wears what he always wears, plaid. Jeans and plaid. Sometimes a baseball cap over curling black hair. His eyes shine a bright sterling blue and always look as though they’re about to laugh.

            He grins at me, giving me a hard punch to the shoulder as he joins me at the bar.

            “Hey!”

            I smile back, happy to see him, despite the fact that we just saw each other during weight training during fifth period. “Hungry? Alfred made tacos.”

            “You did?” Clark says excitedly, drumming his hands on the granite counter top, “I love you Alfred.”

            Alfred laughs, “You are easy to please Master Clark.”

            “Nah, I’m just a sucker for good cooking. And you are one hell of a cook.”

            Alfred smiles again and a pleased flush fills his cheeks. Clark never fails to compliment Alfred a handful of times, whenever he’s over, and it’s a gift that he can say it without coming off as a suck ass. He really means everything he says.

            “Did Diana show you my new dog?”

            “Yeah, cute thing. Boy or girl?”

            “Boy. I’m going to name him Bo. We get to take him home in a week.”

            “Early graduation present?”

            Clark beams, “Yeah. Mom wanted to surprise me, but Dad let it out of the bag early. He wanted me to be able to go shopping for the bed and dog tags. I’m so stoked about it I was freaking out.”

            Clark has only been going to school half-days this semester, so he can help on the farm. Jonathan is getting older and soon, Clark will have to take over more of the responsibilities if the farm is going to keep running.

            “Yeah, I could see that.”

            He tugs out his phone, shows me a few more pics then quickly pushes it away when Alfred drops a couple of plates in front of us with loaded tacos. We eat like most high school boys and devour our dinner like pigs. Alfred merely lifts a brow at us, though he’s secretly always pleased we eat so well, then leaves the kitchen without another word.

            “You going to the League meeting on Sunday?”

            “Of course,” I wipe my mouth with a napkin then sit back and groan. My stomach is so full it hurts. “Aren’t you?”

            “I don’t know. I’ve got chores to finish. But I’ll try. Dad needs me more than he did a year ago.”

            I see the worried crinkle on Clark’s forehead and frown. “Clark, everything alright?”

            “Yeah,” he looks up, shrugs a shoulder, “I mean, sure. Dad is just getting older. After his bypass last year, things have been harder for him. Mom and Dad are talking about selling some acreage and retiring.”

            “Damn.”

            “Yeah, it seems wrong almost to do that. But I get it, you know? I never really wanted to be a farmer. They know that. I want to go to college in Metropolis in the fall. Work my way up the ranks at the Daily Planet. Plus,” he raises his brows, “I’m Superman. I don’t have time to add in planting and harvesting. That would be nuts. I’d never have time for anything.”

            “No, you wouldn’t.”

            “So Mom and Dad have been thinking a lot about it. And it makes me feel guilty.”

            I shake my head, “Don’t be. You’re parents love you. They understand.”

            “Yeah. They do. You still on track for college at Gotham U?”

            “Yeah,” I murmur, fingers suddenly fiddling with the seam of my jeans. Diana is supposed to go there too. So is Wally, another JLA league member, but I can’t help but to wonder what another few years beside Diana is going to do to me. She thinks we’re real good friends. She has no idea…

            “Diana is pretty psyched about it.”

            I look up, eyes catching Clark’s for a second then dropping. “Yeah, I guess so. We haven’t really talked a lot about it.”

            “I get why you haven’t.”

            I sigh, not really feeling like discussing Diana and that bag of worms tonight. I’m already tapped out emotionally. “It’s not something I have the energy to really go into tonight.”

            Clark shrugs, used to my closing doors on him, “Fair enough. Want to watch a movie?”

            “As long as I get to pick.”

            “Hey,” he gripes, “I didn’t know the last one we watched was going to be a romcom.”

            I roll my eyes, “Please, we both know you’re really a soft mush beneath all that ‘man of steel’ shit. My pick. And I want horror.”

            Clark attempts to give me a blasé look, but I can see from my periphery as I start heading to the movie room that he’s already tensing. There’s nothing better than scaring Clark just before bed. Nothing.

            I pick a relatively laid-back flick. Signs. Then position myself on the sofa in the pocket, a mountain dew in hand, the remote in my lap and wait for Clark to start edging nearer. It takes him all of fifteen minutes before he’s pressed against my side and doing his damndest to look like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

            When he screams at the part where the alien sticks its fingers out from beneath the pantry door and Mel Gibson cuts them off, I laugh until I cry. I can always count on Clark to lighten my mood. What are friends for?

 

            Later that night when I get back from patrol, it’s almost four in the morning and Clark is passed out like he usually does in the guest bedroom. Its two doors down from own so I flip off the lights he’s left blaring on my way. It brings a smile to my mouth to see him wedged between to walls of pillows in the middle of the bed, arms wrapped around himself like a mummy. The guy who can literally shoot lasers from his eyes is scared of an imaginary alien getting him in his bed. It’s laughable. It’s so human of him. And one of the reasons why Clark, is so very Clark. 

            When I reach my own room, I roll both shoulders, trying to loosen the knots I know are tightening them. My jaw aches a little where someone clipped it and I’ve got a mild bruise starting to blossom on my rib cage. But it’s all part of the job. And it’s nothing new.

            Scrubbing both hands down my face, I strip to my boxers, climb into bed then flip off the light. Darkness envelopes me and I settle heavily in the inky feeling, my eyes already being tugged downwards for sleep. It’s been a long ass week. Between final exam studying, patrolling, and b-day party planning, I’m a goner.

            My last thought, though I wish it wasn’t, is if Diana will be wearing a blue dress to match her eyes or maybe a red dress because that’s her favorite color? She’d look stunning in either.

            But I dream of the blue.


	2. Birthday Bash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's birthday is a tough time for him. Diana gives him a really cool gift.

**Diana**

            “What are you wearing to Bruce’s birthday tonight?”

            I smile at Shyira, eyes floating over hers to the boy in question, then shrug, “My blue formal. It’s all I have that’s really suited to this type of engagement.”

            Shyira frowns, “I bought a new dress. It’s green and I’m wondering if that’s the best color on me now…”

            I roll my eyes at my friends’ predictably poor image issues. Even though we’ve only been friends a couple of years since I came to man’s world, she and I are still thick as thieves. She trusts me to help when she’s having a crisis. Even if it’s just about what dress to wear to a party. “Shyira, you have green eyes with skin like cream. The dress will be gorgeous on you. Stop overthinking it. I’m sure Bruce would want us just to have fun.”

            She nods, “Right. I’m just—I’m not used to all the publicity. I’ve never been to a celebrity party.”

            I smile, “He isn’t a celebrity. Not really. He’s just Bruce. And he won’t be bothered by the media or paparazzi. He wouldn’t want you to be either.”

            Shyira’s eyes dart to Bruce, or rather, Batman as he’s conversing quietly with Superman and Flash. They are standing with their heads close together, all eyeing some sort of grid patterned map with similar looking scowls.

            “Are we starting?” I ask pleasantly, though I’ve already edged closer to the boys. I don’t want to be left out of any JLA plans.

            Batman looks up, his mouth thinned, but expressionless, then nods, “Sure.”

            “Everyone here?”

            I look around, see Green Lantern, Flash, Superman, Batman, Hawkgirl, Martian Manhunter, and myself, Wonder Woman, then smile. “Looks like. And that’s a record considering the time.”

            Batman’s mouth sinks further into the scowl and I let my smile grow brighter. When we’re in costume, I enjoy needling him worse. Maybe it’s because he takes everything I do with silence, as if that might deter me. Or maybe it’s that he looks so adorable when I know what hides beneath his cowl. A boyish sort of charm that has no place with the black cowl and tightly controlled rage he puts off.

            “We meet early for safety reasons Wonderwoman. Four in the morning is hardly that ridiculous to ask for once a month.”

            I smirk, “I thought it was because you only come out in the dark, Batman.”

            Superman chokes on a laugh, then looks apologetically to Batman, “Sorry.”

            “Let’s just get started. Then everyone can leave and get their—” he looks pointedly at me, one corner of his mouth tipping up, “beauty sleep.”

             I simply keep smiling. An age-old dance between the two of us that I never grow tired of. He’s become one of my greatest friends these last couple of years and it is because of this, that I feel so comfortable with him. Likely even more so than with Shyira.

            “I’ve had blueprints made for the official Hall of Justice. The project breaks ground on May 8th, 2018. It should be done within a year. Possibly six months if I sit on the contractors.”

            At once, the air crackles with focus and everyone looks to Batman with new interest. Now this, might have been worth getting up so early for. We listen carefully as Batman lays out the plans, gesturing and explaining. He answers questions as if he’s standing in front of a board meeting, going over a business proposal. At eighteen, he simply doesn’t come off as anything less than a carefully groomed weapon. Whether that weapon be in the business field or that of the JLA. It’s a transformation I’ve watched grow with time and I find myself admiring that about Bruce.

            There are no awkward limbs, acne, or fumbling voice catching. Standing in that suit, he’s more a man than many of the ones I pass walking down the street. 

            He doesn’t let his age slow him. He doesn’t let anything, really. Bruce is unstoppable and if someone were to walk into this room right now, and hear how he addresses the rest of us, they would think he was a battle-hardened leader speaking to his army, not a freshly minted eighteen-year-old, speaking to his friends.

            In many ways, the JLA is exactly that. Batman’s global army. We fight with him, but he is the one pushing the plans. Funding and driving the force that holds us together. He has always been the single most driven piece of the JLA and I’m drawn to that, just as much as I find his much quieter surly alter-ego, an admirable friend. He is without a doubt, the heart of the JLA.

            That’s something to be proud of. The warrior I’ve been raised to be, recognizes the one within him. We are far more alike than we are different, which explains why we get along so well.

            When Batman calls the meeting to a close, citing the sun rising as our adjourning, I brush past Superman and Flash to speak with him. It doesn’t occur to me until after I’ve already found my way to his side, that he might not feel as keen about speaking with me. When it’s just Bruce and Diana, he seems to enjoy my company more. As Wonderwoman, he tends to keep me at an arm’s distance, which I respect. His entire posture stiffens, fingers flexing on the folder he’s stuffing papers back into as he gives me his back.

            “What can I do for you Wonderwoman?”

            I frown at his shoulders, tempted to force them into relaxing with my thumbs, “I just wanted to speak with you about tonight.”

            He looks over a shoulder, “What about tonight?”

            “I should have sent my RSVP sooner, but I’d like to come.”

            He nods simply, going back to stuffing the papers, crinkling them in his haste.

            “In a hurry to get home?”

            Batman’s shoulders tense further, “No, just tired. It’s been a long night.”

            I scowl at him, “You never went home.”

            “Why would I?” he grumbles, “I don’t usually call it a night until two or three. It made more sense to simply stay out till the meeting.”

            “Did you drive here?”

            He sighs, finishing his task then turning. The rest of the team has already left the large room we were meeting in. It’s an old dusty library that was abandoned some time ago in Gotham. It’s not the homiest, but it’s served as a temporary Justice Hall for the last few years. Bruce has added kerosene lamps for warmth and through the years, chairs and a table have been brought in. Flash even dusted and mopped the week previous. But we all look forward to having a real place to call our own. A place that doesn’t hide seem like a child’s hideout.

            “No.”

            I smile, “Then let me fly you home. You must be exhausted,” I reach for one of his arms but come up with air when he suddenly backs up and hits the table with his rump.

            “No,” he swallows visibly, “No thank you.”

            “What’s the matter? You let Clark fly you places.”

            “I don’t care for flying. I have a—a weak stomach.”

            I lift a brow, hearing the lie easily, too easily. Bruce is normally far better at this, “You don’t have a weak stomach. What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing Diana. I just—I don’t want to, alright?”

            I can see his jaw working and something like lead goes to my stomach. “Are we not OK?’

            “What?”

            I shift on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable, “Are you and me not OK? Did I do something wrong? We’re best friends. You don’t usually lie to me like this.”

            “I’m not lying. I just don’t want to fly.”

            My gaze narrows, eyes suddenly searching his frame for answers and he stiffens visibly, hands fisting. When he gets like this, there is no telling how obstinate and rigid he can be. Perhaps he’s hurt and he doesn’t want me to know. He doesn’t want to admit that he _could_ really use the help getting home.

            “Are you hurt?”

            He glares, “No.”

            “Sick?”

            “Diana, please. Just let this go. I’m—I just—” his cheeks start to turn red and I stare in muted shock as he continues floundering for words. Bruce never stutters like a fool. That’s Clark’s job. Bruce growls and hisses. He keeps to himself. He cites poetry like some relic from the sixteenth century, but he doesn’t stutter. Something is seriously off about him this morning and he’s making me worried.

            “Alright, you’re scaring me Bruce,” I say quietly, stepping near enough I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. I can see the pulse in his temple and the sweat starting to bead on his upper lip. “Tell me, what’s wrong? We’re friends. Arguably, best friends, you can tell me anything.”

            It isn’t my intention, but I’ve backed him further into the table and his rump is pressed into it. I’m leaning forward, frowning at him and my hands have already taken it upon themselves to wrap around each of his biceps.

            In this position, this close, I can see the dark stubble on his cheeks. I can see the shape of his lips and how they are slightly parted, each breath dragging over them with an effort my brain is only vaguely understanding. I shake my suddenly foggy head to clear it, but nothing about what’s going on should make sense. I’m—dear God!

             I jerk back, abruptly aware of how my pressing into him must have looked. My eyes leap to his and I can see he appears more bewildered than angry with me and I blink several times to clear the strange haze. Had I actually been—attracted to Bruce, just now? Had that been what I was feeling?

            No. I look at him again, see his anger returning and with it, my best friend. For a moment, I hadn’t seen the teenager that I banter and tease. I’d seen the hard, smooth edges of a man. A dangerous man with a wicked mouth that needed to be tested.

            My stomach does a slow roll at the thought of kissing Bruce and I discard the idea at once. Not only would he likely not welcome it, I wouldn’t actually want to do such a thing. I’ve never seen Bruce as anything more than a friend. And I don’t think I ever will.

            He’s merely—too intense. Too—dark and broody. That’s it. He’s all of those things and I’m the opposite.

            “Diana.”

            I turn, looking at him with a neutral expression, “What Batman?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Good. Right,” I snap, suddenly angry with him, “I’m flying you home. Let’s go.”

            He glowers at me, “And I said, no.”

            We stare at one another, sharp expressions passing between us, then I something inside me snaps and I stride back over to him to take hold of his arm. He makes a growling sound, something like a cornered animal and it only incites me more. Where did this anger come from? Who has taken me over?

            Bruce hisses, digging in his feet as I start pulling at him. “Stop fighting me,” I hiss back.

            “Stop pulling. Stop.”

            I ignore him, tugging harder until his boots are skidding and he’s scrabbling at the table to stop me. The fight is momentary, particularly as I’m far stronger and it ends when I toss him over a shoulder and he goes ramrod stiff, his breath rushing out of his lungs when his stomach connects with me shoulder.

            “Stupid, irritating, fool,” I growl, feeling him still fighting me. “If you’d only let me help you, this wouldn’t have been a problem.”

            “I’m—” he sucks in a breath when I jostle him, “I’m not. You’re squeezing—too hard.”

            We’re outside now and the air feels chilly on my sweaty skin. I’m sweating? Since when does such little exertion make me sweat? Since when do I ignore Bruce’s moods and toss him over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes? Since when?

            My stomach drops when I feel Bruce squirm again, his hands gripping my forearm weakly. I loosen my hold and guilt suddenly makes me unsure. Despite the fact that it’s now broad daylight, I stifle the urge to give in and begin flying towards Wayne Manor.

 

**Bruce**

            To say that I’m humiliated, would be an understatement.

            Winded, ruffled, and furious, I wait till Diana deposits me like a little package on my balcony window then whirl with red in my vision.

            “How dare you?!” I yell, oblivious to the fact that Alfred is standing just inside my bedroom, taking in every detail of this argument.

            Diana’s frown is part confusion, part agitation. “You were exhausted Bruce. If you’d only admitted to such and let me fly you home civilly, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

            “To what?” my throat burns, hands clenching air violently. I want to step forward and clip that pretty jaw like she’s a man. But I can’t, because she’s not. “What exactly was this Diana?”

            “A friend helping a friend. Forcefully.”

            I step toe-to-toe with her and glare full force. Instead of cringing like she ought to, she lifts her chin higher. “If you’d tried this with Clark, he never would have been OK with it. You abused your power. That’s unforgiveable.”

            “You’re a human. It’s different.”

            I jerk like she’s hit me, “I’m no different than you or any other hero on the league. You took advantage of me, knowing that I would never want to hurt you.”

            “I did no such thing. I told you what I was going to do. You could have fought harder.”

            “Harder?” my voice ticks up a notch, shoulders quaking with rage, “You nearly knocked me out from squeezing me so hard!”

            This manages to garner her attention, because her eyes narrow and her chin falls. I’m getting through that thick beautiful skull, but my God I want to hit her. I want to hit her and then kiss her. Happy fucking birthday to me.

            “Bruce, I—I apologize. Perhaps I was a bit high handed.”

            I straighten, hardly aware that I had been partially coiled to attack. “You can’t push someone around when they don’t do what you want. That isn’t the way people work. Especially not me.”

            “I apologized.”

            “And I’m still angry Diana.”

            “Bruce,” she takes a step nearer, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you do anything. Especially not today,” she tries a smile, but it looks pained, “It’s your birthday.”

            “Yeah,” I mumble, anger simmering, face hot, “It’s my birthday.”

            She looks down and all at once every bit of her warrior princess persona is gone. Now, she is the lost little girl, desperate for help. She is the girl who plays endless games of chess with me on a rainy Sunday. The girl who wants a fluffy puppy to spoil. The one who stole my heart. The transition makes my chest ache and I sag, beaten once again by the baser side of my feelings.

            I hate how weak they make me. How soft.

            “I don’t know what I was thinking. Forgive me Bruce.”

            I shrug a shoulder, nodding, “Fine forgiven.”

            “You don’t sound convinced.”

            I lift my chin and look her dead in the eyes, then pull my cowl off and sigh. “You really pissed me off Diana.”

            “I know,” she bites her lip, “Am I still invited to your party?”

            The question is so silly, it makes me laugh. “Yeah. Sure.”

            She wrinkles her nose, “Aren’t you excited?”

            “Since when have I enjoyed anything social, ever?”

            “Good point.”

            I run both hands through my hair, feeling the sweat and disorder with a grimace. “I’m going to be fine, Diana. I’ll see you tonight.”

            “Bruce?”

            I bite my tongue to keep from growling, “Yeah?”

            “Are you really alright? Something seems really off about you.”

            “Nothing is off. Everything is fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

            When she turns to fly away, my heart jams up into my throat and I watch bitterly for several minutes, trying to calm my ragged breathing. Never have I been so close to blowing one of my own secrets. Never have I come so very near to simply smashing my lips into hers, consequences be damned.

            The French doors on my balcony open and I let my eyes slip closed, already knowing who that quiet studious presence is. “Alfred.”

            “I heard more than I probably should have Master Bruce. Are you alright?”

            “I’m fine.”

            Alfred comes to stand beside me, his presence warm and reassuring even as I want to flee back to the darkness of my bedroom and hide. “I don’t believe you. Not right now. But I’m certain a good rest will help straighten matters.”

            “Probably,” I look longingly to my bed and start pulling armor off as I go, “I don’t want to talk about it, Alfred.”

            “I understand. Do you need any pain medication, sir?”

            I shake my head, already pulling the covers over my head to make a tent of darkness. “I don’t need anything.”

            _I don’t need anyone._

            Alfred wakes me an hour before guests are to be arriving and I stumble out of bed like a drugged man. My eyes are bloodshot, my hair a bird’s nest and I’m sporting a pretty hefty five o’ clock shadow. I’m in absolutely no mood to have a birthday party. No mood to face Diana again and pretend she didn’t unman me.

            Ignoring my own reflection, I shave roughly, scraping away the whiskers that really shouldn’t be so thick on an eighteen year old’s face, then run a wet comb through my tangled hair. I hit a few snags and wince, then draw back confused when I see red in the comb. I was bleeding yesterday? When?

            I guess I remember being hit by a bottle or something when I broke into that warehouse…Or maybe it happened when I got into a little scrape with a drug dealer on the corner of Hoffman?

            Shrugging, I see no other choice but to take a quick shower. I strip, scrub, and am out within five minutes. It does wonders to bring a little color to my pale face and I purse my lips as I don the tux Alfred laid out on my bed. It feels uncomfortable on my tender skin but familiar, and I button the undershirt then tie the simple black and silver tie I’d purchased the day before.

            When I stand in front of the mirror, I do my best to see myself objectively and find that I look every bit the billionaire Bruce Wayne. Only, I look so much older than my actual age. Something about my eyes is haunting, dark and weary. I shy away from the darkness there and instead smooth both hands down the lapels of my jacket to rid it of wrinkles.

            “You look awesome dude!”

            I startle, spinning into the mirror like an idiot before hearing Clark’s laughter ring happily.

            “Damn it, Clark!”

            “Come on,” he stands next to me, a duplicate in tux, except he’s wearing a very cheery yellow tie. His glasses are skewed and his hair looks like he flew here. Which of course he did. But I’m still happy to see him. “You would have done the same. Why were you looking so—pitiful anyway?”

            “Pitiful?” I grouse, stepping around Clark to the doors, “No one has ever used that word to describe me.”

            “Well, my dark friend,” he gathers me under one of his arms, forcing me to carry some of it’s ridiculous weight as we stroll down the hall to the stairs. I can already hear the sound of music flowing up the stairwell beckoning to a party I have no interest in attending. “You have the sullen weary soul down pat. And that’s pitiful.”

            I roll my eyes, but sense that this is Clark’s way of trying to draw me out. To push down the darkness that always plagues me. He knows me better than most and that demanding or coaxing, simply won’t work. Subterfuge—that’s a bit more my speed.

            “How many people are here already?”

            Clark purses his lips, considering, “A lot. But we don’t have to stay forever. It’s your party. You can leave when you want to.”

            “Another year sitting at a campfire drinking stolen beer from your dad?”

            He smirks, “Yeah. We could be really risky and add in a few cigarettes.”

            “Did you bring your guitar?”

            Clark slants me a look, “Don’t I every year?”

            I smile, ruffling his hair worse, “Yeah. I like it. Especially when you get drunk and start to bellow love songs at the moon.”

            “I do not do that.”

            “Says you, you never remember when it’s all said and done.”

            Clark snorts, “You’re merely trying to distract from the fact that you always get wasted far worse than I.”

            My smile falters and I’m a little ashamed to say that Clark sees it. I do my best to keep that sadness at bay around him. Around everyone. But it creeps in and on days like my birthday, it likes to creep in so much easier. My heart sits steadfast and easy to bruise on my sleeve. And I silently loathe it, while trying to keep it a secret. But Clark, he’s always known and always seen. It’s why at some point, he’ll make an excuse, then tote me off to some campfire with stolen beer to get wasted. Because he knows I’ll be missing my parents and wishing for things that will never be.

            Clark punches my shoulder playfully, his eyes soft, “I’m here for you Bruce. Come hell or highwater. You don’t always have to be so tough for me. I know what you really feel.”

            I shrug a shoulder, “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend no one knows.”

            “Yeah, I get that. But it’s also got to be tiring.”

            I swallow thickly, not really in the mood to be talking about this right now. “It is.”

            We don’t say anything else as we descend and even when we surge into the strobe lights and music, I feel Clark’s presence like a steady hand. And I’m grateful. I’m grateful he sees me even when I don’t want to be seen. Even if I wish it were Diana who did.

 

**Diana**

 

            I don’t see Bruce for the first hour and some part of me is grateful for this little mercy. I’m still not quite back to normal after my minor loss in judgement. I came to wish him a happy birthday and give him the present I’ve spent months trying to find. It always feels like a challenge to buy him something the doesn’t have, which means it has to be meaningful rather than expensive. And I kind of enjoy the challenge.

            Standing in the corner of the gyrating ballroom, I watch when Bruce enters the room on the opposite side of the dance floor with Clark. He makes a cutting image, wearing all black save the white of his dress shirt. The strobes dance over the pair of them and I walk slowly across the floor, pushing past other dancers. The scent of sweat and heat clings to skin and I ignore the heady urge to lose myself to the thrumming beat of a Twenty One Pilots song the way the others are.

            ‘Jumpsuit’ blares like a welcome song over the speakers with the bass turned all the way up.

            By the time I reach Bruce, Clark is already gone and in the mess of dancers. Bruce stands alone, his eyes quietly studying, hands lose and deceptively relaxed at his sides. But I know he’s always ready. Always prepared in the back of his mind for all hell to break lose. Even here, at his birthday party.

            Forcing a smile to my face, I come to stand beside him and yell above the music.

            “Hey!”

            He turns to face me and smiles back. “Hey. Enjoying yourself?”

            I nod, taking in the lights and sounds again. No one throws a party like a billionaire. Especially one who’s turning eighteen. The songs change and the beat goes wild, the pulse of it vibrating through our feet. Bruce’s gaze floats back to the crowd of dancers and he looks vacantly over them.

            “Wanna dance?” I ask loudly, waiting for him to turn those gray eyes back to me.

            When they do, one insolent brow lifts and I see Batman’s arrogance shining in their depths. It tempts me to either rile him or back off. “I’m not sure if I’m up to it.”

            “Oh come on, Bruce!” I grin, grabbing his arm, unwilling to take no for an answer, “The music is amazing. Let’s cut lose. Forget everything for a few minutes.”

            He watches me steadily, eyes flickering back to the dance floor. “Alright.”

            My smile widens as he guides us into the throng and when we break into spontaneous dancing, I laugh loudly, enjoying far too much the way Bruce smiles back at me. The way he dances carefully, as if someone is watching over his shoulder for the first several minutes. Fifteen minutes later, I can sense when the mood changes and Bruce has really let himself go because his eyes slip closed during a techno piece and the lights blur his image in a strobing psychotic pattern. Everything moves in slow motion, the ramped-up pulses in the room synching up like a strange rippling beast. We rave, arms pumping, sweat dripping until we feel sick and I’m the one to stop for a break.

            Grabbing Bruce’s hand again, feeling it slicked with sweat, I tug him out of the dancers and in the direction of the veranda where I know we’ll have a minute to breathe and cool off in relative privacy. I stop when we get to the balcony and we both collapse into the railing laughing like loons. Bruce slants me a sideways look, eyes bright with mischief, cheeks pink and sweaty. He looks so much younger like this. So much lighter.

            And I find myself itching to always be the one to make him this happy.

            Grinning at him, I dig into my purse and find the small prettily packaged box I found for him. It feels weighty in my hands and there is brief moment where I wonder if it’s the right choice to do this now, when he’s so happy. “I have something for you.”

            He pushes both hands through his sweaty hair, eyes amused, “And what did you find this year?”

            “Something unique.”

            “I’ll bet.”

            “Something you would never guess I could find.”

            Bruce’s mouth tips in a boyish grin, “You’ve piqued my curiosity Diana. Tell me.”

            I bite my lip, handing over the box like it’s a rare diamond. It might as well be for how difficult it was to find. “Here. I’ll show you. Happy birthday Bruce.”

            He takes the box and flips it over a couple of times in his hands, unable to stop his natural urge to analyze, then peels open the silver wrapping paper. When the original slightly yellowed packaging shows through, his hands stop and his brows lower.

            “It’s—”

            I smile softer now, aware that his frame has gone rigid. “It’s the same as the one your father used to wear. Same brand.”

            Bruce’s eyes dart to mine and I can see in the scant lighting that his pupils are large black discs, his lips pressed into a thin line. Every ounce of color he had, is lost in a wash of pale skin under the negligible moonlight. Something inside me clenches when I see the obvious hurt and I rush to explain.

            “I thought you said you liked the smell and I’ve been trying to find the same kind for a while—I’m sorry Bruce. Maybe this was a mistake.”

            “No,” he says tightly, voice so thin I know there are tears behind it, “No, I love it. I’m just stunned. It’s wonderful.”

            “Will you ever wear it?”

            He looks down at the box of men’s cologne in his hands and I can see his fingers trembling around it. “I don’t know. Maybe just smell it when I miss him most.”

            “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

            Bruce smiles sadly at me, the color of his eyes washed in unshed tears, “I was already upset.”

            “You were?” I ask carefully, unsure of why he’s telling me this. We share so much of our lives, but we don’t usually share feelings. It’s something that has always been unsaid between us. Something, somehow, neither of us has dared to break.

            Until now.

            “It’s hard to not think of them on my birthday. Especially this one.”           

            I nod, understanding him completely. Every landmark, every special occasion, you think about a loved one who isn’t there. And this one, Bruce becomes the true face of Wayne Corp. He inherits his majority. It’s a very big birthday and one that would come with lots of baggage. “It would be.”

            He puts the box of cologne on the railing and lets his face fall into both hands as he rests his weight there. He looks—broken. Leaning on the railing in a sweaty and rumpled tux, his hands covering his face. If someone took a picture, they might title it ‘the world on his shoulders’. I reach unconsciously to rub at his back and he surprises me by allowing the contact. He merely sighs into those long hands that shoot grapple hooks and sign business mergers.

            I feel the soft drop of my heart into my stomach and stiffen when I recognize it for the same feeling I’d had earlier on his balcony. Am I attracted to him now? Am I—really wanting him?

            My eyes trace the lines of Bruce’s back, studying the tan space of neck before his collar and the slight curl to his ebony hair from the sweat we worked up dancing and I wonder if I’m just caught up in the moment. If this sensation I am experiencing, is merely because I feel so badly for his loss?

            Bruce looks over a shoulder at me, but one hand remains on his back and I can see that the threat of tears is gone. He’s pushed them back down, just like he does with everything else and I frown at him.

            “You’re a good friend Diana,” he says mildly, eyes now detached and rid of their gut wrenching emotion and my frown deepens.

            “I try to be.”

            He straightens and my hand drops. “You are. Thanks for the gift. It means the world to me. And for the dancing.”

            I swallow stiffly, wondering what he’s thinking now that the mask has covered him completely again. I want more than ever to be there for him. And more than ever I am confused by those feelings. Because they are now tangled with this deep desire to lose myself in him.

            “Of course. I want you to have the best birthdays Bruce.”

            He smiles, “They are when I’m with you.”

            I shrug a shoulder, having heard him say similar things before, “Are you going to bail early and go camping with Clark?”

            Bruce’s eyes smile this time and I see the tension start to fade from him again. “Probably. It’s become a bit of a tradition.”

            “You wouldn’t want to break that now.”

            “No,” he hesitates, eyes drifting over me with a slowness that makes my face feel hot. I’ve long since cooled off with the breeze on the veranda, but my sleeveless dress feels very thin and revealing now. Especially with those sapphire eyes studying me so intently.

“I like your dress,” Bruce finally says quietly, a wistful tone to his voice.

            “Thank you. I really only have the one.”

            He lifts a brow, “You’d look pretty in a paper bag Diana. You know that.”

            And yet, when he says things like that to me, they sound much different than they did before. What is happening inside my head today? I feel the warmth down to my toes with the compliment and I’m shocked to realize that I am swaying towards him, wanting to draw nearer. For what?

            A kiss? Ludicrous. My eyes dart to his mouth and I see a small furrow in his brows when he catches the motion. My stomach lurches and I take a few steps back. What am I doing?

            “Bruce?” I hear a familiar voice outside the doors then Clark comes jogging out, “Hey man. Took me a bit to find you. You ready?”

            Bruce is looking at me, eyes intense, brows furrowed, “Just a minute. I’ll meet you in your truck.”

            “I uh—” Clark grins sheepishly, “I flew. Remember?”

            “Right. I’ll meet you in my room. Tell Alfred I’m leaving.”

            “He knows. I already talked to him. See you in a few,” Clark gives us both a strange look, then heads back the way he came.

            “What was that?” Bruce asks, a trace of anger in his voice.

            “What was what Bruce?” I return quickly, apprehension and mortification making me feel defensive. Bruce’s expression sinks into a glower and I lift my chin automatically in response, preparing for a battle. I’m much more comfortable fighting with Bruce than I am considering any other possibilities.

            “I don’t—we should—” he stops himself, gives a half growl, then scrubs his face, “Never mind. This is going to turn into a cluster fuck if I’m not careful.”

            The last part he mumbles so lowly, I’m not certain he expects me to hear, but I do and so I stare at him with shock on my face till he turns to leave.

            “Wait, don’t be mad.”

            “I’m not mad Diana.”

            “OK,” I try a weak smile, “Then a birthday hug?”

            He casts me a long look, then nods finally, drawing me in easily for a familiarly friendly hug. Do I imagine that he lingers a little? Or that I hear him inhaling the smell of my perfume? Yes, most assuredly. But it doesn’t change the fluttering of my heart in my chest or the quickening of my breath when I feel the lines of our bodies touching. He so long and lean. So much muscle beneath the black suit he’s wearing.

            We draw back and I stare bewildered at him. My God, I have feelings for him. And not the friendly sort. I’m actually attracted to him.

            “Goodnight,” I whisper, my voice coming out choked.

            He nods slowly, eyes unreadable. He’s snapped on his Batman visor and become guarded once more. He knows. I want to shrivel and die.

“Goodnight, Diana.”


	3. Not According to Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Diana have a minor falling out after a shocking kiss. Bruce is too blinded to see what's really there.

**Bruce**

“Diana hasn’t been acting like herself, has she?”

            I look up from my laptop and shrug. I’ve been plugging through my final essay for AP Lit and I don’t really have time to gossip with Clark, but he’s here and my eyes are starting to blur so…

            “What’s that?”

            “Diana, she’s been acting off.”

            “Has she?” I ask, confused, turning from my desk to stare at Clark who’s taken up residence on my bed. He has his own laptop out on the comforter, a slue of papers spread everywhere. I don't know how he works with such a mess. But he always manages to get the job done one way or another. We only have a week to graduation. It feels like eternity. I want to be done with this particular hellish chapter known as high school so I can get started on the next.

            College.

            “It’s obvious something is wrong,” Clark scoffs, “She’s been moping. Distracted. Screwing up in practice and she even said she got a B in chemistry. A, B. That’s huge.”

            I look at him then frown, “I guess.”

            “You guess? Jeez Bruce, since when do you care so little about a friend? If this were me, you’d be freaking.”

            I purse my lips, “Well it’s not you. This is Diana we’re talking about. And I’m not allowed to act the same way, nor should I.”

            He cocks his head at me, “Did something happen between you two? That night on the veranda, during your birthday?”

            I spin back to my laptop and frown at the blur of letters on the open document. I’m not certain I really feel like going over this with Clark. I’ve already done it a thousand times in my head. “Nothing happened. If it had, don’t you think you would have been the first to know about it?”

            Clark snorts, “No. You’d keep it to yourself. Until I beat it out of you. Just like you do everything else.”

            “I would have told you if we almost kissed…”

            “Wait—” Clark stands up, rushing over to my side, “You almost kissed?”

            I sigh, running my hands through my hair, closing my throbbing eyes. “Maybe? I don’t know. It happened the night of my birthday and I’m not sure if when I go over it, I’m misremembering, or maybe just—overanalyzing.”

            Clark considers, “Well, you do have a habit of overanalyzing.”

            “Exactly. Which is why I haven’t talked to you. Or anyone. Plus, I’ve been busy. We do have finals this week.”

            “And graduation.”

            “Exactly.”

            Clark smirks at me, slinging an arm over my shoulders. I’m at once overwhelmed with the scent of polo cologne and mint gum. “You’re so hopelessly in love with her, it’s really adorable.”

            I scowl, batting his arm away. “I’m not in love. I’m barely legal. I don’t know what I am.”

            “In love. There is no age limit and you are far beyond your years.”

            “Clark,” I sigh loudly, feeling like a whiny teen. Hell, I am a whiny teenager. I just want to sleep and eat junk food in peace. Is that too much to ask? “I’m kind of—freaking out. I have a lot going on right now. And I don’t have the time to deal with anything else but this fucking huge paper. And then I have to do some chores or Alfred is going to beat down this door and start citing me the riot act. Then, oh God,” I groan, “I almost forgot, I have to call the board and confirm that meeting for my full share signing on Friday.”

            “Wow.”

            “Yeah.”

            “You’re so much busier than any teenager I know. Which just proves my point of you being older than your years. You might be the youngest JLA member numerically, but you out-age us all in experience and wisdom.”

            I purse my lips, clicking away once again on that paper. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

            “It is,” Clark muses. “Let’s get out of here. This room smells musty and we’ve been working for hours. I’m fried.”

            “Clark, I can’t stop right now. I have to finish. My chor--.”

            “Hold on.”

            “Clark, no.” He’s already out the door and gone in superspeed. Several minutes later he returns with a triumphant grin on his face and my jacket.

            I type the last line of the paper and fall back into the chair dramatically. “I wanna die.”

            “Everyone does this time of year. But I just did your chores and we’re going to go blow off some steam.”

            “What?” I lift my head to stare at him.

            “I did your chores. Alfred left a list on the counter. So I sped through them. Literally.”

            “I get it,” I scruncn my nose, “that’s cheating though.”

            “Naw. Mom and Dad don’t care if I go quick, besides, what are friends for? You’re tired. You need the help.”

            I look at Clark a moment, feel the headache in my temples delicately reminding me that Clark is so very right then sigh with gratitude. “Thanks Clark.”

            “You’re welcome,” he beams.

            “Where are we going?”

            “The farm.”

            There is something about going to Clark’s farm in Kansas that calms me and he knows it. Smiling, I don’t even feel that sour over having to be flown there. I’m too pleased to be flying over corn crops and red barns. By the time we reach the Kent’s, I’ve already imagined Martha’s famous pies and have started to salivate. I could use the distraction and the extra calories. Alfred has been getting on me about eating more. But with the amount of time I spend working out, it’s hard to make up the deficit.

            “Never changes,” I muse when we land behind the big red chipped barn and Clark starts leading the way to the house. Halfway there, Martha comes running out with a big grin and her arms spread. Clark hugs him mom like he hasn’t seen in her years, even though he still lives at home and something inside me turns into a puddle. I love that woman. She’s become a bit of a second mom to me throughout the years.

            “And Bruce!” she croons, tugging me down into her wiry arms. She smells like petchuli and fresh turned soil. It’s a homey smell I associate with the farm. “You look like such a grown man. My, how the time has gone. Where have you been hiding?”

            I smile, “I’ve been busy.”

            “Don’t I know it. All that homework! And with graduation this weekend,” she tosses a hand, “Stupid, if you ask me. Well, I’ve got pie in the oven and coffee in the pot to help you unwind. I bet you need it.”

            I lift a brow at Clark who looks at me with an innocent shrug. “What?”

            “You planned this.”

            Clark’s smile is wide and without guilt. “I did. But that doesn’t make it any less good for you. You need a break. You push too hard and you know it.”

            “I can take care of myself.”

            Martha smiles, patting my cheek and it makes my heart turn over in my chest. “Of course, you can dear. But sometimes it’s good to be reminded that you don’t have to. Now, come inside. I made your favorite. Rhubarb.”

            I sigh, letting myself be pulled. I’ve never turned down Martha’s pies and I’m not about to start.

 

**Diana**

            I spend the better part of the week ignoring anything save trying to keep my head above water. By the time Saturday, Graduation day rolls around I can hardly believe I survived. Best of all, that I’m never going to have set foot in the institution known as High School again. I’m ready for college. I’m ready to move out. I can hardly wait.

            Pushing for my own apartment was a risk, especially with my mother, but with Shyira as a roommate and the backing of the JLA, mom finally allowed it. I move in next month into a dinky two-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and walls that are paper thin. I’m ecstatic.

            As for the minor irritation of Bruce Wayne and my inconvenient but totally over-come-able feelings for him—I’ve hardly given him a thought.

            I stare at the full-length mirror where my black graduation gown hangs solemnly on my tall frame and press a trembling hand to my stomach.

            Who am I kidding? He’s been in my every thought. I’ve been freaking out. Terrified of what this could mean for us? Does he know how close I came to kissing him? And if he does, would he have welcomed it, or so much worse, been ticked off and said no? The very notion of Bruce confronting me sends my stomach into cramps that threaten vomit. And I have NEVER, ever, felt this way about a guy. Ever. Nor should I!

            I’m an Amazonian warrior princess. We don’t love men. We don’t need them. We shouldn’t even be aware of them aside for their uses. Not be obsessed over eyes that haunt and tease. Or wonder what their lips would taste like? Or what that laugh would be like if it were in response to me pulling it out of him? Oh Gods, I have it bad. So very bad.

            My phone buzzes on my nightstand and I grab it with a dramatic sigh.

            _Ready for this?_

My eyes crinkle in a smile as I think of Bruce standing in his own gown, feeling nervous. Its hard to picture the Batman being nervous. Ever.

            _Ready as I’ll ever be. You coming to my graduation party tonight?_

I wait a breath, surprised that Bruce doesn’t reply right away because he texts like lightning then frown down at the screen when a text buzzes in several minutes later.

            _Probs not. I think Alfred planned something for just us._

_Did you just make that up?_

My fingers have tightened convulsively on the plastic case, teeth worrying my bottom lip at the prospect of there being any suspicion on his part. He can’t possibly know. Can he? Dear Gods, help me not to panic. Help me not to panic.

            _Not feeling social. Been busy and I’m tired. Sorry :/_

I release the breath I was holding.

_Maybe I could come over for a little drink after its all over? I’ll save you a plate of food?? Please…:)_

More minutes, more sweating on my part, and a small part of myself shrivels. I’ve always kept my distance from my male peers in the JLA. Even though I was drawn to Clark at the first and then towards Bruce’s natural skill and talent, I instinctively put it on the back burner of getting the job done. My mother impressed on me a great sense of duty and self-control. Both of which, I’ve prided myself in having until this very moment. If I could fly across the bay and straight into Bruce’s window to hash this knot in my stomach, I would.

            But I can’t. Because I’m terrified of him not feeling the same. The idea of spilling feelings that are as damning as blood on the hands post murder, makes me want to wretch in my waste basket.

            _Sure. 9?_

            Relief pools in my middle, thick and greedy and I shoot back a quick smiley face to seal the deal. I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do. But I need to figure it out, and fast.

 

**Bruce**

 

            The gymnasium is filled with noise. So much fucking noise.

            I squint my eyes at the bright light overhead, working my sore jaw with one hand as I scowl at family and friends to make my path. They split like the dead sea and I stalk with cap in hand in the direction of the bathrooms. The red exit sign is like a beacon of mercy right next to it.

            I should be happy that I finally walked the stage of glory and am now a lucky member of the graduated population. But all I feel is queasy and crabby.

            Nursing a concussion is difficult on a good day, surrounded by books and the soft crackle of a fire. Struggling with one amidst the smell of sweat, air horns and confetti, makes me rabidly angry. Alfred grabs my elbow when I finally reach the edge of the bleachers and for a moment, I try to let my sour expression go. He just sat through five hundred and sixty names being read for me. I owe him that at least.

            Wearing an elegant dove gray suit, he smiles warmly at me, then folds me into a hug that should feel awkward since we don’t often touch. But it’s right. He smells like Earl Grey and pipe.

            “Congratulations Master Bruce!”

            I smile, the throbbing in my forehead so painful it’s hard to focus on his words above the roar of people talking and cheering. “Thanks.”

            “Shall we go?”

            I open my mouth to say yes, then feel two bands of steel wrap around my middle before I’m whirled in a tight rapid circle. My stomach lurches violently, vomit itches up the back of my throat and I cringe in pain.

            “We did it!” Clark releases me a moment too late, then frowns at me as I run to the nearest trash can and throw up.

            I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I’d rather be stabbed by Joker then do this in public.

            Alfred and Clark allow me the privacy to finish my embarrassing loss of control in some semblance of peace, though I’m gaining quite a bit of chatter from fellow students as they pass. I hear whispers and giggles and struggle not to let my face heat.

            They’ll think I’m hungover. It sours my mood further.

            Clark waits till I’m wiping my mouth with the back of my hand then he approaches me stoically, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry Bruce. I didn’t know you were sick.”

            “Not exactly sick,” I mumble, tucking my chin automatically when I hear someone say ‘alcoholic loser’. “Concussion.”

            Clark’s mouth thins, “Then I’m _really_ sorry. You should get home and into bed.”

            “Yeah,” I muse, noticing Alfred’s concern as well. “I should.”

            “I’ll get the car.”

            I nod weakly, turning away from the trash can I decimated to lean against the brick wall furthest from the rush. People are emptying, like water from a busted can and my chest already feels lighter. I’m not big on crowds. Never have been, never will be.

            “How’d you do it?”

            I shrug a shoulder, feeling better now that I’m not moving. “Fell.”

            “Seriously?”

            I shoot a black look at Clark and he looks down. “Yes. Really. I missed the edge of a roof and fell. I hit my head on a dumpster on the way down.”

            “Ouch. Any stitches?”

            I nod, turning to show Clark where Alfred gave me fifteen stitches on the right side of my head. I’d argued till I was blue in the face to keep as much of my hair as possible. I didn’t want to walk for Graduation with a bald patch. We’d negotiated to trim my hair shorter than I usually like it in favor of no bald patch.

            “Explains the hair.”

            I reach subconsciously to straighten the mussed pieces on top then stop myself. “Yeah.”

            “Looks good.”

            I laugh, “Liar.”

            Clark is grinning at me, “No really. Alfred did a good job. You can hardly tell. Though you’ve got a pretty wicked bruise around those stitches. I’m surprised your standing. Did you go to the hospital?”

            “Street Clinic with Leslie.”

            “Hmmm.”

            “She’s a good doctor Clark. She’s helped me before.”

            “As long as Alfred approves.”

            I shake my head at Clark’s mothering, but feel my chest tighten with his concern. I don’t have many people that give a fuck about what I do or where I go. But Clark is one of them.

            “Alfred should have the car pulled up by now.”

            “Need an arm?” Clark offers his elbow and I roll my eyes, pushing off the wall to head for the school’s main doors.

            “Where are your parents?”

            “Yucking it up with the Langs.”

            I try to remember who they are in relation to Clark, feel dizzy, then give up. It doesn’t really matter. I walk up to the black Volvo already parked in the drive up and Clark opens the front door for me before Alfred can. Feeling very much like an invalid, which I sort of am, I slide into the leather seat and sigh painfully.

            Alfred hands me a pair of sunglasses and I gratefully slip them on, pushing out some of the blinding sunlight.

            “Metropolis is too sunny.”

            Clark laughs. “Gotham is too rainy.”

            I grin, “Good thing I live there and you live here.”

            “Good thing,” Clark shifts in his leather dress shoes, “I don’t suppose you’re going to Diana’s party then?”

            I swallow stiffly, remembering my promise that she could come over later. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Clark, because I usually tell him everything. But I hold back and simply shake my head. I’m already feeling nervous and stupid about agreeing without being razzed by him. “No.”

            “She’ll miss seeing you.”

            I swallow stiffly, looking out over the dash, “We’ll see a lot of each other in the fall. And for other stuff.”

            Other stuff meaning the JLA. I’m a little paranoid about saying anything Batman related when I’m just Bruce. Clark nods at me, “You aren’t going to talk to her?”

            “About what?”

            Navy meets Seabreeze and we stare.

            He lifts a brow, “Your business.”

            I bite my tongue to keep back a snarky retort. I’m a danger to society like this. “See you Sunday?”

            Clark nods, “Mom is looking forward to seeing you.”

            I’m looking forward to seeing her. “Then tell her I’ll be there.”

            Graduating from high school isn’t about to change years of tradition. Twice monthly Sunday dinner with the Kents. But it feels strangely like something should have changed. All we did was walk across a stage, shake a few hands, then move a tassle. But I feel—disconnected and weird. Shaking off the hollow sensation, I wave a goodbye to Clark then close the door. Alfred is silent for the first fifteen minutes of our drive and I settle into the leather, tipping my aching head back, enjoying the peace.

            “Your parents would be proud, Master Bruce.”

            I cast him a sidelong look, wondering if that’s why I feel so strange. Like something is missing. Is it because I have no family to see? Because the two people I really wanted screaming from the stands like a couple of idiots, weren’t there? Will never be there?

            My fingers reach absently for one of my wrists to a couple of scars that line the inside skin. They aren’t raised, but I’ve felt them a hundred times, thought about them over and over. There’s more scars on one hip, some on the upper part of my legs. And they aren’t from battling crime in Gotham.

            I gave _that_ shit up a couple of years ago, but on days like a today, I miss it. I miss what it did for me and the feeling of control and balance it allowed me. Even if it was wrong.

            Alfred’s hand closes over both of mine and despite the fact that I now outweigh and out-height the older man, I feel very small.

            “Today was a big day.”

            “Yes.”

            We sit silent for minutes, maybe longer. The only sound is that of the tires humming on the road and our breaths, out of synch and steady. Alfred’s warm hand is still on mine and I let it remain. It seems today is a day for touching. I don’t particularly mind it. Apparently, I need it. Though I’m often the first to shy away from it.

            “You can talk to me Master Bruce. Anytime,” the voice is softer than before and my eyes flicker to Alfred then fall back to our hands.

            “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

            “It’s not stupid.”

            I snort, “It was. But I moved on. I won’t slip up.”

            Alfred sighs, “Is your medication working?”

            The part of me that has had this conversation so many goddamn times before, snarls to the surface and I calmly resist it. He’s only trying to help. He’s only trying to be there for me. But no one really can be.

            “Yes. Just a bad day.”

            He nods, “Especially with your birthday so recent.”

            “Yes, especially,” I swallow thickly, painfully aware of the fist around my throat. My eyes burn and I look out at the other cars, surprised to see that we’ve almost reached our turn off for Wayne Manor. I’ve been so in my head that I hardly noticed.

            When we pull into the garage and the engine shuts off, I start unbuckling, ready to slip away to my room and barricade, but Alfred stops me.

            “You would tell me…if you wanted to cut?”

            I blink at him, a flush creeping annoyingly onto my cheeks. I shouldn’t feel like a child caught doing something rotten. But I do. Quick at it’s heels I feel the usual shame and self-reproach for even feeling like I do. “I do want to Alfred. But I’m not going to. I made a promise.”

            And it’s been exactly two years and thirty-two days since that promise was made. I intend to keep it. The only other person who knows about any of this, about the cutting, is Clark. And that’s only because I couldn’t keep it from him. He’s a nosey asshole when he wants to be.

            Alfred releases my hands and sighs, “I’ll get you some aspirin and a warm rag for your head.”

            I nod, escaping like a coward out of the garage and into the manor. When I reach my room, I discard the robe in a puddle of black satin. The gold ropes I’d gotten for excellence come off too and I don’t bother to arrange them neatly. Tearing off layers of suit jacket, dress shirt and tie, I’m stark naked by the time I make it to the bathroom and I don’t realize I’m silently crying until I’ve got the water on full blast and I’m standing underneath the burn of it.

            I’d known today would be hard. I’d known my birthday would be too.

            But I still didn’t prepare for it. How could I? How does one emotionally prepare for milestones in which they are forced to stare straight into the mouth of grief?

            I hate myself for this weakness. I hate myself for the urge to damage and maim. To destroy all so I feel some modicum of peace. It infuriates me.

            I stand under the spray for twenty minutes, remaining until my skin is pruned and red. When I slip back into my bedroom, the curtains are drawn closed and a lamp is left on. By the lamp, there’s a glass of water with two aspirin and my pajamas folded in a neat square. Everything I’d dumped like slob has already been picked up and removed.

            My eyes water again. “Fuck,” I growl, grinding my teeth.

            I just need sleep. A little pain killers. I’ll feel better in a couple hours.

            I dress quickly and fall into a deep dark sleep.

 

            _It wants to consume me whole. To rip the essence of my soul from trembling lips and devour it._

_I feel the fingers grasping at my clothes, the darkness strong and deep and wide, gaping beneath me, and I scrabble to stay above it. I claw at soil that rises over my head. I open my mouth to scream and nothing comes out._

_So, I scream into the nothingness with the nothing coming from within me. I am nothing. There is nothing. There is no one to help me._

_Darkness swims, flutters and then bathes me. Only the monster remains. The monster and me._

_But I know I won’t win._

            I startle awake to a pair of warm hands shaking my shoulders and bleary with fear, I grasp them blindly in the dark, terror lodged firmly in my throat.

            I can feel the monster’s fingers still. Clawing and shredding. I can smell the earth in my nose and the feel the strain in my throat from screaming.

            It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

            “Bruce, it’s OK. It was just a dream,” the soft voice speaks in my ear, lips brushing my feverish skin and I press into it, trying to dissolve the monster for this soft creature instead. This creature that speaks gentle and smooth. That feels like water in a desert of fear.

            I let the angel wrap around me and I press into it, stifling the urge to cry recklessly by burying my nose in their neck. I smell something floral, light and airy and it softens the rigid chill in my limbs. It makes me go limp, breath stilling.

            Then reality slaps into me like a burst of icy water down my back.

            “Oh God,” I back up abruptly, jerking back so roughly I nearly topple off the bed in my haste to get away from Diana. From the welcome heat and comfort she’d been offering me. From the arms that had just held me. From the neck I had just buried my nose into.

            Diana. My friend. Only my friend.

            My throat snaps closed and I feel a terror stronger than that of the dream descend over me in blistering waves.

            A lamp is on in the far corner of my room, shadows shroud and beckon and I stare horrified at the Amazonian’s presence, my heart a jackhammer in my chest. Her brows are drawn low and she sits comfortably on the edge of my mattress, as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

            “What are you--,” my voice catches, and I resist the urge to cower in shame, “What are you doing here?”

            “You said I could come over later,” her voice is subdued, questions laced within the statement. Concern. Worry. Something else…

            I push a hand through my sweat dampened hair, trying and failing to order it, “I uh—I forgot.”

            “You had a nightmare.”

            It doesn’t appear that she is going to let this go.

            I blink at her, gaze sharpening on her every detail without even trying. She’s wearing very little makeup today, but still, her skin glows. Her hair is loose and slightly curled. Even in the athletic tank and shorts, she has the bearing of royalty.

            “Yes.”

            “Are you—alright?”

            “Yes.”

            She looks down at my shaking hands and I force them under my legs, lifting a brow when she merely stares.

            We remain silent for long seconds, the tension so very thick I want to crawl back under my covers and forget I ever woke. The nightmare would be better than this. Better than Diana knowing more than she should about me. Than her seeing how little control I really have.

            Dark eyes watch me a moment more, then finally look down. I let go of the breath I’ve been holding. “I’ve been worried about you.”

            “Why?”

            “Because you’ve been acting a little strange.”

            “Have I?” I ask stupidly, aware that she’s trying to have a grown-up conversation and I’m diverting poorly.

            “Yes.”

            “It’s nothing. Changes cause stress. Even good changes.”

            “Bruce, I care about you.”

            My stomach lurches at the choice of words, words that should clearly place me into the friend zone, but my heart wants so much more. So much fucking more. “And I care about you.”

            I love you.

            I will always love you. I don’t think I will ever stop…I don’t know how. I wish I did.

            “We’re friends, right?”

            “Best friends,” I answer robotically, knowing this conversation has the potential to go south quickly.

            “And you’d tell me, if there was something you needed to get off your chest, right?”

            “I would tell you if I had a problem, yes.”

            “That’s not the same.”

            “More or less,” I answer carefully. Diana smiles thinly, reaching across the expanse of wrecked comforter to grab my wrist. I let her fold our hands together and remain stiff when she crawls closer and our hips brush. She’s always been physically affectionate. Her and Clark are two peas in a pod. Even still, the physical nearness makes my skin burn and my heart race.

            “I’d like to think we’d tell each other anything.”

            “Sure.”

            “Bruce, I’ve been wondering—there’s something I want to talk about. I—have you felt--”

            I risk looking at her and feel my gaze snared in the chocolate brown of her irises. I feel my stomach bottom out when I inadvertently lean nearer to take in that natural floral scent on her skin. To feel her breath hit my cheeks. Mortification crawls into the periphery of my thoughts, when I see her eyes widen and a faint blush tinge her cheeks, but doesn’t seem to have any bearing on stopping my actions. She _can’t_ know how badly this affects me. How much her being _on my fucking bed_ with me makes visions of sweaty naked bodies dance through my head. Oh God—stop, I order my brain. Stop, right now. Don’t.

            If I keep thinking like this, she won’t have to wonder what I’m thinking. She’ll _see it,_ plain as day.

            “Bruce?” Diana’s voice has dropped to a whisper and I realize I’ve leaned even closer, our breath mingling. Lips a hair from touching. I want so much.  

            “Diana,” I mumble out, eyes blinking, body still disobeying my strict orders.

            This isn’t happening. No. Stop, Bruce. Think!

            My mouth brushes Diana’s before I can stop it. And when she doesn’t immediately draw away, something inside my chest snaps open wide.

            I recognize it for hunger the moment I deepen the kiss and Diana responds. God, she’s responding to me. My hands cup her jaw, as our lips dance and I feel the groan rise from my chest when she’s pushing my down on the bed. Wait—stop, my mind screams faintly.

            But she wants me. She finally wants me.

            Doesn’t she?

            A thin frail voice in my head says no. She’s only comforting you. She feels poorly for you. She’s Diana, she would do anything for anyone. This will only ever be a pity fuck. Because she can taste the brokenness in you and she has to fix it. Just like Clark can see the brokenness and feels compelled to fix and protect. Two peas in a pod. Just the same.

            She doesn’t really want me. Or this. She’s trying to help me.

            God, oh God.

            Diana breaks the kiss, looks down at me and frowns, “Bruce? Are you alright?”

            “No,” I whisper, “We should stop. I’m sorry. I never should have done that.”

            “What?” she says, voice tight and strange. My ears are ringing. My stomach is churning with nausea.

            What the fuck have I done? I’ve ruined our friendship. I’ve ruined everything.

            “I’m sorry Diana,” I try again, sitting up when she scoots back and the warmth of her body on mine is suddenly gone. I feel empty at the loss. I feel more broken. “I was just reacting. I shouldn’t have done that.”

            “You were just reacting?” she repeats, voice still strange.

            “I was—scared,” I whisper, a half-truth spilling, “I shouldn’t use you like that just to feel better. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

            “Hate you?” she snaps, “I don’t hate you. I never have and never will. I’m not a monster.”

            “I’m sorry,” I say again lamely, eyes latched onto a couple of strings that need trimming from the comforter. Diana pushes to a stand, separating us further and I can hardly look at her. I’m too embarrassed.

            “Stop apologizing. If I didn’t want to kiss you, I wouldn’t have.”

            “I know.”

            Her scowl deepens, and I know that I’ve royally fucked up. I should have just taken what she was willing to offer me. One night of comfort and peace. One night without thoughts or regrets. But I would have always felt hollow knowing it wouldn’t have been the same for her. She’d have been comforting a friend. She’d have been doing something kind and compassionate.

            And she likely would have regretted it.

            The idea makes me feel sicker.

            “Friends still?” I say quietly, eyes searching the comforter, face hot.

            “Bruce, you will always be my friend. Regardless of what happens between us. I care about you.”

            Yes, I know. She cares about me. She cares enough to sleep with me if I need it. To offer herself like a goddamn consolation prize.

            But she doesn’t love me. Not like that.

            “I know.”

            “I’m sorry about your dream.”

            “It’s alright.”

            Our words are stilted and awkward. When she steps over to the balcony, I finally notice the swaying curtains. She must have come in from there. The breeze rustles her hair and moonlight paints her skin porcelain. I ache to look at her. I ache to touch her again.

            “See you soon?” she says quietly, as if I might say no. and I wonder if she feels the sudden break between us like I do. If she knows that it was more to me than just a kiss. Her eyes are too guarded for me to tell.

            “Yes. Of course. We go to the same school in the fall.”

            “Right.”

            “Goodbye Bruce.”

            I tense at the choice of words, grinding my teeth, “Goodbye Diana.”

 

            We don’t see each other again for nearly six months.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tons of angst in this chapter, but Growing Pains is full of that:)   
> Working on the next chapter and I should have it out shortly.   
> Thanks for reading and enjoy!

**Diana**

            “Wanna hang out after class?”

            I scribble flowers absently in the margins of my notebook, mind anywhere but the stuffy confines of the rectory I’m sitting. Professor Limoux has been droning on for the last hour about the electron transport chain and all that I’ve managed to glean is that it’s complicated and I’m likely going to fail this ridiculous class.

            Whichever person decided that college biology was required as a pre-requisite for getting a business degree should be hung. Drawn and quartered and then hung. Do it like the medieval barbarians did. They had something right when it came to warfare.

            “Diana?”

            I blink up at Shayera, then frown, “What?”

            An elegant blond brow lifts in question, “Have you been ignoring me this whole time?”

            “No. Of course not. I’m just distracted.”

            Shayera snorts, “I can see that.”

            “It’s not you, it’s me.”

            “Right. I’ve heard that line before.”

            Despite the tension in my neck, I smile at my friend, “I’m sorry. Yes, we should hang out. I’ll buy you an iced coffee and you can dish all about that new guy you’ve been seeing.”

             “Promise?”

            “Of course. My word is gold.”

            And it is gold. I take Shayera to Starbucks after class and we nab the booth with the overstuffed cushions by the windows. Rain has just started to settle over Gotham, much like it does nearly everyday and it spatters the window with tiny speckles of water. We sit side by side, pressed into each other, gulping down caffeine for the first few minutes and I relax easily. Shayera is one of my closest friends. I enjoy spending time with her even more than I enjoy my time with Clark.

            I can count on one hand the amount of friends I consider close enough to be called family. Shayera, Clark, and—well Bruce. At least, six months ago.

            I try not to think about Bruce. But my thoughts flutter over him, like a tongue working over a sore spot, unable to leave it alone and I feel my shoulders stiffen. What happened between us was a mistake. I recognize that now, given space and time. Even still, we’ve struggled to overcome it.

            We text. But we never call. I see him at League meetings, across the room, silent, stoic and unresponsive. But we don’t talk to each other. He’s become a stranger in my own backyard and I’m not certain how we’ve never crossed paths these months at Gotham U. I know nothing about what he’s doing. Or what’s happening in his life.

            And it feels—emptying. Like someone has taken something vital from me. Something I needed to breathe with. I can’t lie and say that it hasn’t changed me, because it has. I haven’t been the same.

            “Thinking about Bruce again?”

            I sip thoughtfully on my coffee, eyes casting down to the wood grain of the table. Of course, Shayera knows everything. She’d wheedled it out of me shortly after graduation and I’d been happy to have the weight of it shared. “I was. But I don’t want to. That’s old business now.”

            Shayera frowns, “Hardly. You two still haven’t made up.”

            “I’m not sure that’s what we need. But no, we aren’t really talking still.”

            “Have you tried?”

            I shrug a shoulder, “Not really. I figured we both needed space. And perspective. What happened between was brought on by stress and hormones. There was no way not to make it awkward after we’d come to our senses, so it was better that I stay back.”

            “Apparently he thought the same.”

            “Apparently,” I swallow more steaming coffee and bury that hollow feeling with distraction. “Tell me about Jacob. He’s hot.”

            Shayera watches me warily a moment, green eyes narrowed, then sighs as she allows the change of subject. I’m grateful to her. “He _is_ hot. He’s taking me to his family’s lake house this weekend.”

            “That’s fast.”

            “Well,” Shayera grins wickedly, “the guy has moves. And I’m a sucker for blonds.”

            “Mmmm. Who wouldn’t be?”

            “Speaking of, what about that guy from bio?”

            I blink, “What guy?”

            “Uh, tall, blond and handsome? Clearly interested. Super good looking. Midwestern accent with honey bear eyes.”

            “Oh,” I nod, seeing the man in question materialize in my mind. He is all that and more. We’ve shared a few laughs, bantered quietly when we were supposed to be studying. I’ve even found myself flirting easily with him, enjoying the ease of doing so. “Him. I’ve been thinking about it actually.”

            And I have been.

            I’ve tried a number of varying oddities in my schedule to push away the bleakness that has settled over me since graduation and nothing has worked as I’d hoped. It’s only natural that I should decide to move on with someone else. Isn’t it?

            Besides there never really was an ‘us’ to move on from. Not really.

            Something hard and ugly moves to my stomach and I wish it weren’t guilt. Or regret. Or pain. But it is.  

            I frown again and Shayera takes my hand.

            “You sure you’re alright?”

            “I’m sure.”

            “Well, if you’re sure then…” she reaches into her jacket pocket, then pushes a crinkled gum wrapper at me. Taking it, I smooth out the edges with a thumb and see the name Steve Trevor scrawled out with a number. It’s local.

            “The guy?”

            “The guy.”

            I trace the phone number, a small smile lifting the corner of my mouth. How very quaint to write his number on a gum wrapper. Endearing.

            “He gave this to you?”

            “Yeah. He did. I told him I’d pass it on. But I’ve been holding onto it until I was sure you wanted it.”

            I smile at Shayera, giving her hand a squeeze, “Thanks. I think I’ll text him.”

            “Good. This could be good for you.”

            “Yeah. It could be.”

           

**Bruce**

 

            “What do you mean, you’ve lost the goddamn order?”

            “Mr. Wayne, it appears that something got lost in translation. It never got put into the distributor. But I fixed it. I’ve corrected the problem and it should be here by next week. I apologize.”

            “Great,” I growl acerbically, forgetting myself and who I’m supposed to be for a fraction of a second. “That’s fine. I’m sure everything will work out fine. Thanks.”

            I hang up the conference call with a jab of my finger then settle heavily into the leather desk chair I’m perched in. It’s after eight and the sun has long since disappeared behind the haze of Gotham smog and skyscrapers. But I’m still here.

            Avoiding. Brooding.

            What else do I do?

            Rolling my eyes, I adjust the wrinkled suit jacket I’d donned after class and find myself wishing heartily for my headphones, a pair of sweats, and a bowl of Alfred’s linguini. I could use a night planted in front of the TV, mind blissed out, thoughts far from Gotham and her troubles. But that isn’t going to happen. Least of all tonight.

            Virtually everyone has gone home for the night, save security, so I have no one to smile for. No one to laugh and dance like the monkey to. It saves me the headache of having to play the part I’m already beginning to regret making. But it serves a purpose. It all does.

            By the time I’ve reached my car, I’m already loosening the tie, unclasping the shiny gold cufflinks and blasting the stereo. I crank it louder than I should and speed a little more than I’d normally allow. Bruce Wayne is reckless. He’d speed, wouldn’t he? He’d risk being scraped up off the pavement for a little high and release.

            I push the peddle a little harder, edging my speed up further.

            Alfred would lecture me. Clark would give me the accusatory brow and shake of the head.

            Diana would—

            I stop the thought, closing it down as fast as it rises.

            I don’t need to think about that tonight.

            I need to keep focused. Keep level. I’ve got work to do.

            Alfred offers me light conversation when I get home and a sandwich, as I’d asked, but I wish it were the linguini. I’m already down in the Batcave, pouring over the specs for the warehouse Mulroni is using to push his drugs with by the time I get the usual stream of nightly texts from Clark.

            _Want company?_

            **I’m working.**

            _I could work with you. It would get done faster…_

            **No.**

            It’s nothing new. I’ve always been acerbic and snappish. I’ve always bordered on rude when the mood strikes me. But lately, that’s all I’ve been. And I struggle not to feel that wedge of guilt when Clark doesn’t respond again. It’s not like I’ve been a fucking good friend lately.

            We both know it. We both ignore it. Because it’s what I want and he knows it.

            Admittedly, I’ve been using him like a punching bag these last months. And he’s let me. But even supermen have their limits and I find myself wondering more and more if somehow, at the end of all of this, I might lose my other best friend too.

            My hands fist on my desk and I bite my lip at the unwanted image of Diana sitting in my bedroom, face pink, eyes dark and unreadable. It’s the last good picture I have of her.

            Seeing her at League meetings doesn’t count. I keep my distance and she keeps hers.

            We text with obligatory politeness. She asks how I am. I respond with short, clipped expected responses. Neither one of us talks about the kiss or about how it fucked everything up. And I bury myself in work, so I don’t wallow in the darkness of my thoughts.

            I haven’t cut. But I’ve wanted to.

            I haven’t started drinking, though, it’s been very tempting. Something, anything, to staunch this awful sucking sensation of having lost Diana…

            Smoking pot would be a good option if Alfred didn’t have the nose of a bloodhound.

            “Mulroni huh?”

            I jerk hard, then slap a hand down on the desk angrily, “Fuck, Clark. Don’t do that.”

            I spin in the chair and see that Clark isn’t Clark tonight. No plaid or jeans. But red and blue, the colors of Kal-el, a swooping S on his chest marking him the bringer of hope and truth and all that shit that makes him good. Makes him wholesome. Everything opposite of me.

            “I decided you needed help.”

            I snort, lifting an incredulous brow, “Don’t you ever take no for an answer?”

            “No?”

            “Right. Just don’t get in my way tonight. Mulroni is mine.”

            “Strictly back-up. I get you.”

            “Good.”

            We stare silently at the monitors, a pair of mismatched barely men, and I shake my head as a wave of hysterical laughter bubbles up from my chest.

            “What?”

            I tip my head back, look at the bats who hang silently overhead and sigh, “How are we even friends?”

            “Because we go together.”

            “Like what? Life and death?”

            Clark grins, “Like peanut butter and jelly. Or cheese and meat. Or Oreos and milk.”

            “Who’s the Oreo?”

            Clark laughs, “You. I don’t think we could say you’re the milk.”

            “You’re such a dork.”

            “But a loveable dork.”

            I shake my head, chest loosening despite the near permanent press of worry for the last six months. “Thanks.”

            “Anytime.”

            Smiling, I type in the coordinates to an external GPS and then offer it to Clark. This isn’t the first time we’ve teamed up like this. He knows the drill. I lead, he follows, and we get my work done in half the time. I prefer to work alone, but there is something to be said for having help. Back-up is a nice commodity when facing down impossible odds and dodging bullets, on a nightly basis.

            “Hey, uh, before we go out, I wanted to tell you something.”

            “Tell me what?”

            Clark shifts on his feet, looking awkward and suddenly pink. If he wasn’t wearing the costume, I’d never imagine he could quite literally break me in half. In fact, I’d laugh if you told me that.

            “Spit it out Clark.”

            “You aren’t going to like it.”

            “Then why tell me?”

            He shrugs a shoulder, shrinking further, though it’s not necessarily possibly considering he’s six foot four. “Because you need to know. And you’re going to find out eventually anyways, so you might as well find it out now.”

            That sucking feeling is back, and it tugs at my middle hard. I keep my expression carefully blank, eyes chilly.

Clark pulls in a breath then bites his lip, clearly working up the nerve to speak, “She’s seeing somebody.”

A breath, a pause, a slight tilt to the room as I take in the information as dispassionately as possible.

My hands close into involuntary fists. The breath backs up in my lungs and I have to work to keep that thin façade of poise and control shuttered over my features. I’ve gotten really fucking good at it over the years.

But there are always chinks in armor. There are always microbreaks in bones.

We don’t need to confirm who ‘she’ is. I told Clark everything after that night in my bedroom. I’d wanted to purge the ugly emotions that it had created, and Clark had let me do that without repercussions. We haven’t spoken about it since. My choice.

I look down at the cave floor, see moisture clinging for dear life and wonder if that feeling could be echoed in my gaze. If someone looked too closely, would they see it, hiding and lurking within? Probably.

But no one bothers to look closely. It’s why Bruce Wayne can be who he is, and Batman can be who he is. And I can fall somewhere in between, anonymous and free.

“That’s not really my business.”

“Bruce—”

“We don’t need to talk about it.”

“We’ve not talked about it for months. And at the time, I thought that was alright, because I thought you two would move on somehow, that it would get better—”

“Clark, now is not the time.”

“Then when?”

I look up, stare him dead in the eye and don’t need to voice what my eyes say. _Never._

“No. We need to talk about this. You can’t hide forever, and we can’t keep pretending at League meetings that something isn’t seriously wrong between you two.”

“Then I’ll strive to be more careful. Clearly, I’ve not been keeping things as under wraps as hoped.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

Clark’s frown is pained, and I resist the urge to backtrack. He’s overstepping, and he knows it. In all the years of our friendship, he’s never pushed me about Diana. Now is no different. He knew it would never work out and he knows even now, that Diana seeing another person, is for the best. Perhaps then, my feelings for her might die. Maybe, God willing, I can move on too.

“I just don’t like seeing you like this.”

“It’s nothing new.”

“Yes,” he argues, bright eyes suddenly shining, “It is. Something broke in you after that night. And I’ve been doing my damndest to ignore it, but it’s time you deal with it. Go to therapy. Get your meds adjusted. Talk to someone. Just do—something. Tell Diana how you really feel. I just—I can’t keep sitting here pretending I don’t see you crumbling.”

“Gee, thanks for caring.”

“That’s not fair. Don’t you lash out at me.”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want Clark.”

Clark nods, eyes suddenly angry, “Sure you will. And in the meantime, you’ve let this poison the League, destroy your remaining friendships, and dismantle you from the inside out.”

“What do you want from me Clark?”

He stares at me, jaw bunching, hands flexing into fists. “I want you to talk to her.”

“I—” my throat wants to slam shut, so I clear it forcefully, “there isn’t anything to say.”

“Yes, there is.”

“She’s dating someone else.”

“She shouldn’t be.”

“So, what, you’ll get off my back if I further debase myself and profess my undying love to her? Say she’s made a terrible mistake and should be with me and no one else?”

Clark shrugs, “Maybe. I don’t know. But you need to try. You can’t stand by and let it play out like it is. It’s killing you.”

“Hurting is not the same as killing.”

Blue eyes turn dark and threatening. “I don’t care. Just, for once in your life, do what I say.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine,” I snap, jerking my phone off the desk to stab in Diana’s number. “I’ll text her to meet me somewhere and we’ll talk. I’m not making any promises other than that.”

“OK,” relief splashes over Clark’s face and I roll my eyes.

I angrily punch in the message, even as a wave of irrational terror lodges in throat, then offer Clark a bland expression. “Now, can we get back to work? Mulroni won’t be waiting on the Batman.”

“Yes, let’s get to work.”


	5. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter for the story. There will probably only be one or two more chapters before I close this baby off.

**Diana**

 

            I keep an eye on my phone the rest of the night, but Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He wouldn’t. He’s out on patrol.

             I scowl, eyes threading over the hasty message he sent me with a flutter of anxiety balled up in my gut. What did he mean he wanted to meet and talk? Did he mean he really, wanted to talk? About the kiss? About the way we’ve been avoiding each other for months on end? Or could he mean that he simply wanted to discuss something in more detail that was league related?

            I wouldn’t put it past Bruce to send me a text out of blue and have it be completely business related.

            I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be _that_ girl. The one that sits by her phone like some desperate junky for a fix ready to jump when the screen lights up with a text from their boyfriend.

            Bruce isn’t my boyfriend. Worse still, he’s barely even my friend.

            And why now? Why all of the sudden, would he pull me right back in when he’d been so certain that what we did was a mistake? Doesn’t he know I’ve been doing my best to forget it and to move on?

            I’m overthinking this. I know I am, but I don’t seem capable of stopping myself.

            God, I just managed to work myself enough to text Steve Trevor from biology and here I am right back to square one.

            Growling between clenched teeth, I realize I’ve been pacing across my tiny apartment like a leashed dog, practically creating smoke beneath my bare feet. When I pace towards the kitchenette again, I force the nervous energy into making a cup of tea and find the steady motions help calm the buzzing irritation under my skin. But only a little. Only just enough to take the edge off.

            When I’m seated in my one and only plush chair with the piping hot liquid, I coil like a snake as my phone finally vibrates sedately on the end table.

            I _am_ one of _those_ girls.

            Snatching up the phone, I see Bruce’s reply and laugh disdainfully. How very typical of him? No more details than before. All cloak and dagger. All business. Fine. Two can play at that game.

            **Let’s meet at the manor. We can talk then. 7, tomorrow night?**

I purse my lips, try to come up with something snappy in reply but only end up sending back a simple, **_Sure_** _._

It feels like an eternity from now. An eternity to think and to worry. To stress over seeing him again in his own element. To actually be back in the one place I haven’t dared set foot since the night we’d sprawled kissing in his bedroom.

            I have a brief embarrassing crystal-clear image of my own hands shoving Bruce down into his mattress as I’d kissed the daylights out of him. His lips had been warm and giving. His long artist hands tugging wildly at my shirt, as if he wanted it off so nothing as silly as clothes could get in our way.

            The pit in my stomach grows. I don’t want to face him when its so obvious I’m not over anything.  

            Why now? God Bruce, why now? _Why when I was really ready to move past you, have you decided to re-open this?_

            I keep myself up late into the night worrying over what Bruce’s motives are and wishing I didn’t care so very much still.

 

            Classes are cancelled.

            Storms from the Northeast come barreling in off the coast and slam into Gotham bringing straight-line winds, heavy rain and power outages. My dingy little apartment complex is not spared, and I’m forced to leave for Bruce’s house as is.

            Despite arriving in a torrent of rain and looking bedraggled, I feel considerably better about the outcome of my meeting with Bruce. I spoke with Shayera which considerably bolstered my fraying nerves and since classes were canceled and I spent the majority of the day holed up in my powerless apartment with the soothing warmth of candles and my favorite novels. I read. I practiced yoga and did meditation. I even painted my nails a brilliant shade of ruby.

            It all helped.

            At least a little.

            But as I stand at Bruce’s back door, the one off the kitchen that’s reserved for family and very close friends, I feel the nerves flutter anxiously beneath my skin. Skin which feels too thin and stretched taut.

            I knock once.

            It shouldn’t surprise me that Alfred answers, but a part of me still expected to see Bruce right away.

            “Miss Prince, come in, come in.”

            He bustles me inside the warm kitchen and I see that Wayne manor is not affected by the city-wide power outages. The kitchen is bright and cheery and smells like Alfred’s shepherd’s pie.

            “It’s good to see you.”

            And I mean that. It is. He looks just the same and I don’t hesitate to wrap him in a damp hug though the man has never been overly fond of touching. He smells like supper, mint leaves, and his favorite pipe tobacco.

            Holding me out at arm’s length, Alfred smiles widely at me, “Miss Prince, it has been far too long,” he pauses, a hand briefly touching my wet hair, “My, my, you’re sopping wet. You must be chilled to the bone. Let me get you something to dry off with. Master Bruce will be down in a moment and you can wait for him in the study by the fire. I’ve made tea. Earl gray still?”

            I nod, “Yes. Still my favorite.”

            “Mine as well. Nothing better.”

            I settle into the warmth of the manor easily and find myself quickly and efficiently tucked beneath a blanket with a hot tea wrapped in both my hands in front of that roaring fire Alfred promised. Nostalgia makes me feel oddly disconnected from the differences.

            Six months ago, I would have felt right at home here in this room. Bruce and I used to play chess on stormy nights, such as this, like a couple of senile grumps. We’d argue, cajole, and tease until Bruce inevitably won. He always did.

            I’m caught up in the memories as I stare into the flickering of orange flames, but not so caught up that I don’t hear Bruce come down the stairs. My hearing is better than the average human and I use it now, counting his steps down to the main floor. He stops to talk with Alfred and he sounds—older. Weary.

            I frown, counting his steps to the study, knowing he’ll come straight here because it’s what he _should_ do.

            He has a guest. He wants to speak with me about something. So, he’ll come and do as he said and then we’ll likely move on from all of this. This awful weight on my chest will go away and Bruce and I can go back to what we were before graduation. The best of friends and nothing more.

            It’s what I’ve been telling myself I want for months.

            Bruce stops just inside the doorway to the study, one hand braced on the doorframe, his posture rigid and uncompromising. He looks taller somehow. Definitely leaner. His eyes, harder.

            “Diana,” he muses softly, eyes taking me in with quick efficient strokes and I feel tempted to stand too. Sitting, wrapped up in Alfred’s fleece blanket makes me feel small and strange.

            “Bruce. You look good.”

            “You as well.”

            So formal. So strained. My stomach churns painfully and I wait for Bruce to make the first move as he strides further into the room and takes the wingback chair nearest the loveseat I’m stationed. The distance between us feels greater than a handful of feet.

            “Alfred is making shepherd’s pie. It should be ready soon.”

            I smile, “Yes, I smelled it. I haven’t had that in a while.”

            A flicker of a smile touches his mouth then fades, “No, you haven’t.”

  
            We sit silent for several minutes, staring into the fire, and it should be awkward. But it’s not. Bruce and I used share long silences together. He enjoys them and as we grew up together, I’d grown used to his need for it. He doesn’t care for company on a regular basis and even company he does enjoy, he still needs the pauses. He needs the breaks from speaking just to be. It feels good to share this.

            When those unflinching gray eyes finally do meet mine, I do my best to simply breathe.

            “I suppose we should talk.”

            “You did ask me here with the intention of that, didn’t you?”

            He nods, smoothing both hands down the pant legs of his slacks. They are nearly the same shade as his eyes. He looks good as the affluent Gothamite. 

             “I thought it time we spoke.”

            I wait a breath, then shrug a shoulder, delicately trying to move the conversation forward, “What about?”

            He swallows, his jaw working, a moment, “Us.”

           

**Bruce**

            God, there is no us. There never has been. But I said it. I said the damning word as if there is. As if I have a right to the beautiful fay creature tucked into my loveseat like some twisted fucking joke and I want to turn and leave. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to face this again.

            Rejection. Stinging cold and vibrant. Painful.

            I don’t want to know what she’ll say. But I’m already making my mouth work even though my lips feel numb.

            “Us?”

            I nod again, struggling to make the rest come out. “Yeah, us. We need to talk about us.”

            “OK,” Diana concedes, her expression neutral. Hesitant.

            I don’t fucking blame her.

            I’ve ignored her for the last six months and suddenly I’m sitting across from her wanting to talk about something that doesn’t really exist in the first place. I want to fucking kill Clark for forcing my hand in this.

            “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

            She visibly softens, placing her steaming mug of tea down onto the end table between us. “I haven’t called either. And I’m sorry for that too.”

            “I didn’t want to lose our friendship.”

            There I said it. Truth. Most of it.

            “I didn’t either.”

            I try a smile, but it feels fake and I can see Diana watching me. Her seafoam eyes are taking in every detail, studying me with such intensity I wonder if she can see the cracks beneath the surface of veneer. Can she see how I’ve been crumbling internally for months? How I’m barely holding on because I lost the woman I loved but never had?

            “How do we salvage it then?”

            Diana unfolds from her blanket and is leaning closer. One elegant hand takes mine and her skin feels cold. I fight a shiver at the contact and keep my gaze trained on the carpet under our feet. She can’t know how this makes me want to snap. How it makes me want to forget every lesson in etiquette forced down my throat in favor of simply taking what I want. What I need. But that isn’t Bruce Wayne, is it? I’m not a man ruled by his instincts and desires. I’m—controlled. Careful. Collected.

            “Bruce?”

            I blink up, feel the feather light kiss of Diana’s thumb tracing over the back of my hand and my throat threatens to close. “I’m sorry. I—I get distracted.”

            She smiles knowingly, “I know. That’s not different. You were always slipping off into your mind, going somewhere else.”

            “Yes.”

            “Where did you go?”

            I pull a little on my hand, suddenly desperate to get some space and find Diana holding tight. She looks steadfast and resolute. Strong. Always so strong and pure and beautiful.

            “I don’t want us to break for good Bruce. You texted me for a reason.”

            “I texted you because I didn’t want to keep going like this.”

            “Like what?”

            I struggle to form the words, to make them come out eloquent, “To just existing. We keep to our own spheres, careful of disrupting the other and I’m not doing well with that,” understatement of the century, “I—I miss you.”

            Alfred walks into the study and we both jerk, separating abruptly.

            “Dinner is ready. I took the liberty of setting everything up in the kitchen. Like old times.”

            “Right, thank you Alfred.”

            I could curse the old man for his timing. But perhaps he saved me from an embarrassing spiral into declarations of love.

            We follow Alfred to the kitchen, saying nothing even though Diana stays near and our hands brush absently like echoes of affection once held dear. We used to touch more frequently without thought. Back when she didn’t know so very much about why I craved those touches.

            After the kisses shared on graduation day, I’m certain it brought a whole new light to our every interaction previous. I’m sure she analyzed as I did, every motive and action. And saw the pitiable truth. That I’m madly in love with her and have been for quite some time. It’s one of the many reasons I’ve kept my distance over the last months.

            I’ve been a coward.

            We reach the kitchen and settle into our seats. Alfred serves dinner, fills glasses, and then wishes us a good meal. He retires to his own quarters to give us privacy and a part of me is grateful. The other part wishes he’d come up with an excuse to have me abandon this entire farce.

            We talk about school for the first ten minutes. It’s safe. Benign and easy. I speak hesitantly about my responsibilities with WE and she reassures like a good friend that I can do anything. That I was built to run the company my father built. It warms me enough that my shoulders are untensing and I’m leaning onto the table, eager to hear more of what’s been happening in Diana’s life.

            I know, of course. Because I’ve made it my business to know. But I want to it from Diana.

            “The power has been out in my apartment all day.”

            I frown, picking at the leftover crumbles of beef on my plate, “You should have called and come over sooner. The power hasn’t so much as flickered over here.”

            “You live a ways outside the city. And you have generators.”

            “True.”

            Diana wipes the corners of her mouth, then puts down her napkin, “Bruce, I want to talk about what you said in the study.”

            I’d known this too, was coming. And I try for ease when I nod at her. “Of course.”

            “You said you missed me.”

            “I did.”

            “How have you missed me?”

            I blink at her, aware that my hands are slowly fisting on the table top without my consent and that Diana is watching this. She’s watching everything. “As a friend. You were one of the best I’ve ever had.”

            She smiles sadly, “I’ve missed you too.”

            We stare at each other long enough that I want to squirm.

            “Why now Bruce?”

            “Why what?”

            She rolls her eyes, scooting closer in her chair, eyeing me carefully, “Why now did you contact me?”

            “Because it seemed like the right time.”

            “Alright.”

            But she doesn’t look like she is buying it. My stomach does a slow roll and push back from the table, causing the chair to squeak terribly.

            “We should—watch a movie or something.”

            “I don’t want to watch a movie.”

            I frown down at Diana, forcing trembling hands into my slacks pockets. “Do you need to go?”

            “No, I don’t. I want to talk to you Bruce.”

            “There isn’t much more to say. We’ve missed each other. We want our friendship back.”

            “Is that all?”

            “What?” the word comes out half-strangled and I’ve backed up several paces without even realizing it. Diana stands slowly, brushing both hands down her blouse as if to smooth any wrinkles. But there aren’t any. She looks perfect, as always.

            “I’m tired of doing this Bruce.”

            I’m tempted to say ‘what’ again, like some Goddamn broken record but barely manage to clamp my mouth shut tight. Diana closes the gap between us, backing me up until my ass is pressed into the kitchen counter and I’m staring at her with wide frightened eyes.

            “What do you want Bruce?”

            “I don’t—”

            “It’s an easy question. And I’m not sure how I ever missed it. But It’s all becoming painfully clear.”

            My stomach churns to the point of pain and I can feel heat blossoming in my cheeks, marking me with shame. Here it is. The biggest let down of the century. The part where Diana says what she should have said all along. She’s not interested and I need to move on.

            Diana shakes her head, exasperation making her eyes darker. “I missed it six months ago. I miss what was happening because I was so shocked by my own feelings at the time. But it shouldn’t have been such a surprise, should it?”

            I press my lips tighter. Gooseflesh pricks painfully on my skin as Diana’s breath brushes over my neck and chin. She’s so close now. Close enough I could pull her in and devour her.

            “I didn’t see it until we were in the study. And then these pieces all started to fit together. Because of course I should have seen it, right? I was your friend,” she hisses angrily “I should still be your friend, but you pushed me away.”

            “I never meant to do that.”

            “Yes, you did. That night in your bedroom, you told me it was all a mistake. That you were only using me. It hurt me so badly I couldn’t see past myself to understand what was really happening.”

            All the blood falls from my face to my toes. “I never meant to hurt you Diana. I’m so sorry. Please understand--.”

            “No,” she snaps now, eyes lapping with flames, “Not this time. Clearly, between the two of us, I’m going to need to be the voice of reason, because you won’t. I missed how badly you wanted me then but I’m not missing it now. Not when I want you just as much.”

            There is a brief terrifying moment where I must be hallucinating, because there is no way Diana said what I think she said.

            Then her mouth is on mine and I’m melting into her.

            We’re tugging at clothes, gasping for air as our mouths dance perfectly and fire begins to engulf me from the inside out. My bones feel like they are burning. My heart is slamming in the shells of my ears and I can’t hear anything, but the way Diana is humming with pleasure. Because of me? God, it must be.

            When Diana rips my shirt open and buttons fly all over the kitchen, there is a dim part of myself that recognizes we’re going a little too fast. That I want to take this slow, to savor it. I need time to adjust.

            But I’m hazy with lust. And I’m not stopping. Her mouth is fire on my neck, my hands are greedy on her hips, in her hair and I’m tugging her up to wrap those long legs around my waist without thought. It’s so easy to be like this with her. Like we’ve always been meant to do this.

            “Diana,” I breathe raggedly around her mouth, struggling with sanity as we dive deeper, “Wait. I want—I need a minute.”

            “We’ve waited long enough Bruce.”

            A deep groan breaks the seam of my mouth and I don’t even have the sense of mind to blush when Diana grips me tighter, pressing open mouthed kisses to my chest.

            “I need to think.”

            “Thinking is what got us into this mess.”

            “Wait—” I say more seriously, stopping everything abruptly, “I just—I need to adjust. I didn’t think you wanted me. I didn’t think you wanted this.”

            She frowns at me, eyes soft and warm, “Bruce, yes I want you. I want this. I wanted it six months ago. I didn’t understand it all then. But I’m beginning to. And I want you.”

            My swallow thickly, heart pounding so loudly it’s a roar, “It’s more for me. More than just the physical.”

            Diana’s hands tangle into my hair, pressing our mouths together and I sigh into the kiss, gripping her so tight, if she were anyone else I’d bruise her.

            “It’s more for me too.”

            I want to say I love her. I want to tell her I’ve been in love with her for so fucking long that I ache terribly from it. But my body is singing. So much feeling is happening on every nerve ending I feel drugged and all I’m capable of doing is living one second to the next.

            We struggle up to the master bedroom. Drunk off each other, stripping clothing as we go. If Alfred is nearby, I don’t even seem capable of recognizing the possibility of being witnessed. I’m in too deep.

            When Diana pushes the door closed and we sink into the velvet darkness and then into each other, I break the rest of the way and feel the terrifying thrill of having Diana there to catch me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter folks. I apologize for how long it took me to get this finished but I hope it's as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write. Thanks for reading!

**Diana**

His skin feels like corded satin under the pads of my fingers. Heated silk over steel. Soft, one moment, then scarred the next. Callouses on his palms and fingers. Dark hair on his forearms and a little on his chest. I run my nails up and down the center of his breast bone and watch him sigh in his sleep, his brow scrunching and then relaxing at the movement.

            It’s hypnotizing.

            I’ve been tracing the lines of his body with my eyes for the last hour, sneaking in the occasional touch, waiting for Bruce to wake up, watching the rise and fall of his chest with rapt attention. He looks like Adonis wearied from battle. Or Apollo, basking beneath the fingers of sunlight that are creeping up the bedspread to snag on his exposed hipbones and belly.

            He’s—perfect.

            I know I’ve lost any ability to separate myself emotionally from the situation. He’d said this was more to him. I’d agreed, because it very much was more. And then we’d tumbled into each other and there’d hardly been a moment to come up for air. I’d been too drunk off the taste of his skin. I’d been too saturated with his smell and finally having him against me, on me, around me—I got lost in all the feelings.

            Now, I’m not lost at all.

I’m wide awake. And it’s more than plain to me that I’ve fallen in love with my best friend. It was more for me? Oh yes, far more. I made love to the man I want to spend all of my days with. I made love to my friend and partner. I made love to Batman and Bruce Wayne, both sides of the man. I gave him something only he will ever have. Not just my body, because no one has had that before, but my heart. I gave it all.

            I can only pray to the Gods, that it was the same for him.

            Bruce finally stirs in his sleep, a low grumble breaking the seam of his mouth as he squints into the bedroom then hisses like a cat when he sees the sunlight pouring in.

            “Good morning,” I murmur, sitting up fully to peer down at him. The sheets pool around my waist and my hair falls in thick waves over my chest, but I feel impossible bared when those sharp gray eyes find me.

            Not that long ago we were wrapped around each other, gasping in a passionate embrace doing things I’ve only ever dreamed of. And from the look in those eyes, we’ll be doing it again. I try not to blush, but I’m fairly certain I don’t succeed.

            “Morning,” his voice sounds rough from sleep. Charming.

            “Sleep well?”

            His mouth tips, a boyish smirk, “Yes. Didn’t you?”

            I smile in return, “I did.”

            Bruce inhales softly, arching his back, stretching his arms overhead, then those calloused fingers seek out mine under the sheets and he tugs me ungracefully flush to his chest. His arms band around me before I can speak, and I feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath my ear as he holds me close. I relax into the tight embrace and go completely slack.

            This is exactly what I need right now. Bruce’s heart lulling my pulse back to normal, his warmth invading my every thought.  

            “How long have you been awake?”

            I shrug, “A little while. Not long.”

            “Mmm,” a hand is playing with my hair, making me suddenly drowsy again, “Hungry?”

            I risk pressing a kiss to his chest, feeling the muscle jump beneath my mouth. “Very.”

            “Oh.”

            I laugh, “I’ve been watching you sleep and driving myself crazy. I’ve become quite,” I nip at his skin and he makes a little strangled noise, “starved.”

            The excitement of this sort of contact being allowed is making me feel bold.

            “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige,” he murmurs, tipping my chin, hungrily kissing at my jaw until he finds my mouth. I sink into the kiss and take everything he offers with casual feathering touches. To his cheeks, his hair, his neck. He responds in kind and has those big hot hands grasping at my waist, pressing his fingerprints into me. His mouth devours, and I don’t put up a fight.

            He’s like touching a wildfire and I feel my skin becoming engulfed in the sweltering heat. Flames lap at my skin and curl inside my chest, reminding me of the aching love I can now name with ease. One more touch, and I’ll incinerate. I want it more than I can say.

           

            Bruce takes me down to the kitchen holding hands, our fingers wound tightly, wearing nothing but one of his oversized t-shirts and a smile. I watch him fumble his way through making eggs and bacon. He burns the toast.

            I say nothing about it and instead, dutifully eat the toast and drink the coffee and the slightly dry eggs. Its perfect.

            “We could stay in bed all day, if you wanted.”

            “Stay in bed?”

            Bruce shrugs a shoulder, “Only if you wanted.”

            I smile over the rim of the robin’s egg blue mug he gave me. “Would you want to Bruce?”

            “I—” he swallows, runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end then murmurs, “Yes. I want to.”

            “Alright. Then that’s what I want.”

            We finish up in the kitchen then shuffle back upstairs and I find myself wondering briefly where Alfred has gone off to. He must know to make himself scarce, because the manor is eerily silent and its clear we are alone.

            We pile into Bruce’s bed, lazily tracing lines into each other’s skin and whispering and laughing. It feels—secret like this. Like there is no one else on the planet outside the confines of his curtain-darkened bedroom. Even if that’s not true.

            Yesterday, we were estranged friends.

            Today, we are lovers. I’m still trying to wrap my head fully around the change. Around the consequences.

            “Bruce?”

            “Yes?” he’s got a pen and is drawing a Mandela into the skin of my shoulder blade. It tickles pleasantly.

            “I hate to do this—” the pen stops, and I rush on, “but we should talk.”

            “I guess we should.”

            I roll and find Bruce seated cross-legged, no shirt, a pair of loose shorts gaping on his hips and a frown marring his mouth. He’s never looked more attractive to me. Or daunting.

            “We spoke very briefly, before all this,” I gesture between us and see Bruce lift an imperious brow.

            “Sex.”

            “Yes,” I roll my eyes, “before the sex. And you said that it meant more to you, than just the physical. I said the same.”

            He nods, expression shuttering beneath a blanket of calm. I’ve seen him do it before. The mask slides down and his walls have gone up. He’s protecting himself. From me. And I wonder how much more he’s been hiding from me over the last months. Over the last years. If I’d been paying closer attention to him, perhaps I’d know.

            “How much more does it mean to you?”

            Gray eyes tighten and fall away from me, “A great deal more.”

            “Bruce, please. I need specifics. I need—” I reach feebly for one of his hands and grab blindly at the one with the pen. He let’s me wind our fingers together and I take comfort in that. “I need to know what you’re thinking. I don’t want to over-complicate things between us. But we aren’t the types of people to make decisions like this lightly. And so, I have to understand all of your reasoning.”         

            “Why?”

            I blink at him, mouth feeling dry and stubborn, “Because I may feel the same. And if not, I need to know that too. I don’t want to go into this any more blind than I already feel.”

            Those eyes jerk to mine and hold me captive for a stilted breath then he nods sharply. “I slept with you because I want to be with you.”

            “Date me?”

            “Yes. And more. I—care very deeply for you.”

            My stomach hollows with something close to anticipation. Or dread. I can’t tell which. “I feel the same.”

            He gives me that characteristic half-smile that he does to the cameras and I see his eyes sharpen like knives. “Care for me, you mean?”

            “Yes, Bruce. Very much.”

             “This shouldn’t be so hard after having seen you naked.”

            I laugh at the uncharacteristic thought coming out of Bruce’s mouth and the tension starts to fizzle between us. It would be so much easier if either one of us had the courage to say what we really feel. To just come out with it. Haven’t we waited long enough? Didn’t we do this dance and pony show for long enough without coming right back around to full circle?

            “I agree—so I’m going just be naked emotionally for you Bruce. Can you handle that?”

            There is a light in his eyes that suggests that he can. But I can’t tell for certain and all at once, my heart is pounding again, and my hands have gone numb with fear. It isn’t like me to be afraid of anything. It isn’t like me to hesitate like this. If I’m wrong, I’ll hurt. And I’ll hurt badly. If I’m right, then it will have been worth the risk to be the first one to say it. Because loving Bruce is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

            But I desperately don’t want to be wrong. Nothing prepares you for the battle and the fear of loving someone like this. For the gut clenching fear that swallows the stomach when you’re the first one to plunge over the cliff.

            I thread our fingers together, make my eyes meet his, and force the words out of a mouth that feels fat and tingling. “I love you.”

            Silence.

            Oh God. Oh God, oh God. I’ve miscalculated. I shouldn’t have said it so soon, no matter that it felt like the right thing to do—

            “Diana—” he’s staring at me, eyes luminous and beautiful. I feel like I might throw up. “I love you too.”

            “What?”

            “I said I love you too.”

            “You do?”  
            He’s frowning at me, face a mask of irritation and it’s such a familiar comforting expression, regardless of the fact that he looks angry with me, that I’m throwing my arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly. Bruce grunts a little, but returns the embrace, just as tight and I sigh into him, letting the love and fear out of me like heavy silken waves.

            “Gods I love you Bruce.”

            Bruce is laughing and sounds like music. It sounds pleasant and right in the confines of this bedroom where it all began. I’ve never felt so utterly undone and yet put back together with the missing piece I never knew I needed. Bruce was my missing piece. And he fits perfectly.

            “I love you too, princess. I love you more than I could ever say.”

 

**Eighteen Months Later—**

**Bruce**

            “Diana, did you call Clark and tell him to not bring anything? Alfred made too much food.”

            “I did, but you know how he is Bruce. He always brings something.”

            “Yes,” I finish buttoning my dress shirt then survey myself with a critical eye. Diana picked the color. Dark red. It’s not my favorite but she’d insisted it looked striking when matched with her dress. She’s been planning this night for weeks. I could hardly say no about something as innocuous as a shirt color. Still, the color feels a bit loud for me. “I know how he is.”

            “You look amazing Bruce. Stop over-analyzing it. Guests should be coming soon.”

            A pair of long pale arms wrap tightly around my waist and Diana nestles her chin on my shoulder. She’s one of the few women I know tall enough to do something like that. She’s the only woman I’d allow. There’s a pretty sparkle on her left hand, glinting delicately beneath the glow of the bedroom lights and I let myself study it with something like awe for a handful of minutes. I shouldn't feel so possessive and instinctually cave-man seeing her wear it, but I do. I like seeing something marking her as  _mine._

            “It doesn’t feel real.”

            Diana smiles, wide and raw and knowing. We’ve been engaged for three months. When I’d asked her to marry me, there had still been a flicker of disbelief in the recesses of my mind. I’d still wondered if maybe I was wrong about everything and she was going to say no. Of course, she didn’t. She’d cried and kissed me and taken the ring out of my hands so quickly I’d stood stupidly for all of ten seconds. When I look at her now, dressed in gauzy red chiffon and gold bangles, my chest still aches and I struggle to remember that she loves me back. That we’re happy and nothing is going to take that from us. At least not _because_ of us.

            This day, the day we celebrate with friends and family, feels like a huge step in the direction of permanence and I’m ready. God, I’m ready for this.

            “You look beautiful,” I murmur, closing my eyes, savoring the smell of the Egyptian oil she likes to wear and the scent of her rose soap. “I never thought I’d be this lucky.”

            She laughs, pressing her mouth to the side of my neck and I know she’s leaving red lipstick there, but I don’t care. It feels too damn good. “Me either.”

            “They’ll be here any minute.”

            “I know,” but her lips are still teasing my skin, making my breath go choppy and my stomach flutter. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how she does this to me. I hope I never do.

            “Diana—” I bite my lip when she grips my hips and squeezes, “You—should stop. You really should stop. My self-control with you isn’t that great on the best of days and tonight—”

            “I feel the same,” she whispers, then draws blessedly away. As much as I want to see where it goes and let her draw me in, we both know we have guests assembling downstairs who’d like to celebrate with is. For once, I’m not dreading the crowd. Probably because they are all JLA or close friends. They are all family.

            “Shall we?” I offer her my hand and she takes it with a little grin, her eyes alight with mischief and hope and promises of a long future together.

            “Darling,” Diana laughs, “Perhaps we should wipe that lipstick off your neck first.”

            I shake my head, “Leave it. I don’t mind being marked by you.”


End file.
